The Prince of Fools
by MadnessJones
Summary: Disneyverse AU: After killing a gypsy in cold blood, Claude Frollo is forced to raise the infant left behind; a girl that he tries to shelter from the world. Her life changes however when she meets a handsome captain of the guard, a deformed gypsy man, and the trickster gypsy king. Not an OC story. Esmeralda/?
1. Mea Culpa

_Author's Notes: Time for my favorite kind of fanfic: an in-depth alternate universe character study! Yay! *waves arms like Kermit the frog*. This time I'm tackling a story I've loved since I was a teenager: The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Whether it be novel, older movies, or Disney movie, each version of The Hunchback is a writer's Rorschach test with how many different lessons and interpretations there are. With this story I wanted to see how the Disney characters would interact if placed in different circumstances. What would change? What would stay the same? Also, how would Frollo change as a villain if his motivations were not based on lust? Read and find out with me in this newest story, "The Prince of Fools" :)_

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Chapter 1

Mea Culpa

The light of the full moon graced the streets of Paris in the year 1462 and reflected in the River Seine like a pearl on a black silk cloth. To most travelers in the night this light would be most welcome, but for a small group of gypsies traveling by boat it was a liability. The streets outside the city were patrolled by guards ordered to arrest all gypsies making their way into Paris, and that order was personally seen to by a man so cruel and bigoted that his name was only spoken in hushed whispers by the Romani people and the argots.

As if the light of the moon wasn't enough to give them away one of the women in the group had a baby, only a few months old, that was crying rather loudly.

"Keep that thing quiet!" The man next to her hissed.

All she could do was rock the little one gently and hope no one was around to hear them. They had paid the smuggler dearly for safe passage into Paris, and it could all be for nothing if they were discovered.

Florika and the group she was traveling with had been kicked out of every city they tried to settle in, but Paris offered a refuge for gypsies; both official and unofficial. For those accused of a crime they could run to Notre Dame and wait out those trying to catch them. More importantly though, Paris had a base of operations for those of the underclass known in jest as The Court of Miracles. The hideout was so called because many con men and beggars who pretended to be lame, blind, and deaf could "miraculously" be healed when they returned there.

It wasn't where Florika would choose to raise her baby if she truly had a choice, but for reasons she felt she would never understand the world hated her people, so she would go wherever she and her sweet baby daughter Esmeralda could be safe. For the moment they would be safe from any listening ears, because the baby finally drifted off to sleep, and the men finally stopped pestering her about her child.

The boat glided to shore just outside Paris, and the dumpy grizzled man who smuggled them into town was demanding his payment even as they stepped off the boat. The lead gypsy man took a few coins out of his purse to pay the smuggler, and all seemed to be going according to plan.

That plan was unraveled however when the group heard the sound of horses, and before they could see what was going they found themselves surrounded by soldiers! The gypsies huddled together, knowing there was no escape with their exit blocked. Then a black horse, snorting like a beast of the underworld, walked casually to the gypsies. Sitting on that horse was a figure cloaked in black and sneering down at them with utter contempt. He didn't need to announce himself. They knew exactly who he was.

"Judge Claude Frollo," The lead gypsy man whispered in horror as he stared into those cold pitiless eyes.

"Take these vermin to the palace of justice," Frollo ordered, his voice deep and full of authority.

Most of the gypsies complied, knowing their fate was likely death yet also knowing they could do nothing to prevent it. One smaller man struggled, but was quickly subdued. Florika tried to sneak away unnoticed with her daughter, but one of the oafish soldiers noticed her.

"You there, what are you hiding!?" The guard demanded as she tried to get away, but he quickly caught her by the wrist.

"Stolen goods no doubt," Frollo speculated, "Take them from her."

Florika couldn't let the judge see her baby. She knew what kind of treatment gypsy infants suffered at the hands of authority figures all over Europe, and she was also well aware Frollo had the reputation of being a hanging judge. Even if she pled for her daughter's life, he would show them no mercy.

With a swift kick, Florika forced the guard to unhand her. When there was a slight opening in their human barricade, she ran.

Frollo gave chase on his horse, and Florika ran as if the devil himself was chasing her down. There were obstacles in her way in the forms of signs and gates, but she leapt and ducked as needed. If she had thought for a moment she would have been stopped, but motherly instinct took over as she evaded the horrible Parisian judge. She leapt over a small gate and ran down an alleyway, and Frollo's horse was unable to directly follow her, which bought her some time.

She thought about running to The Court of Miracles, but that was out of the question. If she led Frollo to the one safe haven her people had left, then hundreds would die instead of just two. She only had one option left. She had to make it to Notre Dame cathedral.

She could feel the footsteps of the horse gaining as she ran through the cold streets of Paris. Her heart was beating faster than it ever had before, and part of her was surprised Esmeralda was able to sleep through all this. Finally after what felt like an eternity running from death, she could see Notre Dame within sight. Despite her exhaustion Florika picked up her pace and sprinted to the cathedral.

When she got there and tried to open the huge doors, she realized too late that they were locked for the night. Fear gripped her as she started wildly banging on the door and screaming "Sanctuary! Please give us sanctuary!"

Frollo's horse bounded up the steps, and Florika tried to run away, but Frollo reached out to grab her! He caught part of Esmeralda's blanket, and Florika pulled with all her might to try to get it back. Frollo's grip was like iron, but she couldn't let go. She couldn't let the judge take her baby!

Frollo suddenly kicked at her with his boot and she stumbled to the ground and fell against the stone steps of Notre Dame. Her head cracked, her neck snapped, and she died instantly.

The judge stared down at the gypsy's corpse without an ounce of feeling. It was no different than killing an ant or a mouse as far as he was concerned. He wondered what she had stolen that had been so important, but knowing how gypsies valued even small things Frollo assumed it was a slab of meat or a pile of clothes or some other trinket. That all changed when he heard the soft plaintive sound of crying coming from the bundle in his hand.

"A baby?" Frollo asked himself as he looked into the bundle.

Inside was the prettiest little infant he had ever seen. It was most likely mixed race, since the baby exhibited dark skin features but also had stark green eyes. It looked to be between four to six months old, and when Frollo unwrapped the child he saw it was a girl.

Realizing how cold it was outside, Frollo quickly wrapped the baby back up, and then wondered why he would even bother with this knee-jerk kindness for the spawn of a gypsy harlot.

Just then, the door to the cathedral opened and the archdeacon ran out to see what all the fuss was about. He saw Judge Frollo on his horse holding a baby, and then looked down to see the bleeding body of the gypsy woman.

"Frollo...what have you done?" The archdeacon asked as he approached the body of the dead woman.

"I am guiltless. She ran, I pursued," Frollo replied flippantly.

"You have spilled innocent blood on the steps of Notre Dame," The archdeacon wailed, "And what of her child? Would you add more innocent blood to your hands?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Frollo scoffed, "Just put her on the foundling steps for someone to adopt. Perhaps a nunnery will want her or something."

"You have taken this poor child's mother away," The archdeacon lamented, "And now you would leave her to chance? You would allow the possibility that she could die too, just as her poor mother has?"

"Poor mother...bah!" Frollo spat in contempt, "She was a gypsy witch. If anything I have saved this child from that devil worshipping pagan. Now she can grow up in a good Christian home."

"A true Christian would not celebrate the death of one of God's creatures," The archdeacon pointed out, "You may convince everyone on earth that you are blameless, but there is someone you _cannot_ hide from."

Frollo thought about this for a moment. He stared down at the baby, who was now looking up at him, and he looked at the cathedral. He looked up to heaven, and then back down at the baby. It was true. Paris was not in a good financial way at the moment. No one would adopt this child, and she would likely starve...all because of what Frollo did. If he allowed this to happen, would God punish him? He didn't want to believe that, yet part of him very much did.

"What must I do?" Frollo asked softly as he stared into the vibrant green eyes of the baby girl.

"Raise the child as your own," The archdeacon suggested, "That way you know she will be cared for. The miller's wife had recently given birth. You could pay her to nurse the infant."

Frollo didn't much like that idea. He hadn't dealt with children since his miserable little brother was a child. That didn't go well, since Claude had tried to raise his brother Jehan to be a good Christian man, and instead he had run off to Rome to be a vagabond with some prostitute he met in a tavern. Yes, Frollo would admit one of his few flaws was that he was bad with children.

Then again, when this little baby looked up at him, it was easy to almost forget she had been born of gypsies. She looked so innocent and pure, almost like an angel. He held her closer to keep her warm, and she tried to grab the fabric of his robe.

"Alright, I'll do it," Frollo finally said to the archdeacon, "Perhaps I can raise this child to not be like the gypsy trash she was birthed from. Perhaps I can save this little girl's soul. We must baptize her immediately."

"Very well," The archdeacon replied, though he was already starting to have regrets about telling Frollo to keep the baby, "What do you intend to call the child?"

Frollo thought for a moment. He hadn't considered naming the child, but then again it would be awkward to just call her _girl_. Frollo wasn't the most creative man if torture wasn't involved, so he just went with his mother's name.

"Agnes. Her name is Agnes."


	2. F Is For Festival

_Author's Notes: Wow, actually updating a story quickly? i must be sick or something. LOL! Anyway, now we can start getting into the meat of this alternate universe. I hope those of you reading this fic are enjoying it so far, and thank you for tuning in to read another chapter of "The Prince of Fools" :)_

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Chapter 2

F Is For Festival

It was a sunny if somewhat chilly day on January 6th 1482, and a 20 year old Agnes Frollo sat at the bay window looking out at the city streets as people milled around before the biggest festival of the year began. It was the Feast of Fools, and there were people of all kinds readying themselves for a day of chaos, merriment, and drunken pleasure. Not Agnes though. She was sitting there with a book waiting for her father to arrive downstairs.

The young woman sighed as she watched happy people pass by her home. She and her father lived in a private home right next to the palace of justice. That way Claude Frollo wouldn't have to go so far to get to work. It was a well furnished and almost opulent home, but living so close to the Bastille made the place feel depressing and foreboding.

Agnes was rarely allowed to leave her house, and she never left without Frollo accompanying her to ensure her chastity and good etiquette. She loved her father and was grateful for his guidance, but at the same time she was feeling stifled now that she was an adult. She wanted to see the world, to explore, and to help others in any way she could. That wasn't her destiny however. Her father was searching for a suitor for her to marry, and she had put off choosing for far too long. Soon she would be backed into a corner, and she would go from being Frollo's daughter to so-in-so's wife.

As she turned her attention from the joy outside to the boredom in her Latin textbook she heard her father making his way downstairs. She steeled her face into one of concentration in hopes that her father wouldn't see how she had fantasized about going to the festival today. After all, not many ladies, even ones of privilege, had the education that her father provided her. She would just have to apply herself and forget about the colors, music, and fun going on outside.

"Good morning, Agnes," Frollo greeted her in a genial yet formal manner.

"Good morning, Father," Agnes replied in an equally formal way, "I was just studying my Latin."

"Ah, good," Frollo replied with a small smile, "Habent autem septuaginta duo paginam lagere?"

"Affirmativa," Agnes replied cheekily, "So what are we studying today, Father?"

"Today I thought we would study your catechism," Frollo replied.

"_Again_?" Agnes groaned, "Why can we not study geography this time? I really want to know more about ancient Egypt and Rome. Maybe we could go over the Byzantine Empire again. Do you think it will ever return, or do you think the Turks will manage to keep the territory?"

"I know you are eager to learn my dear Agnes, but we must ensure you keep up with your religious studies," Frollo chided her gently, "Perhaps we should start with a warm-up. Let's go over the alphabet."

"But Father! That's for babies!" Agnes complained.

"It doesn't matter how old you get, you are still my baby," Frollo countered playfully.

Agnes crossed her arms but didn't have the heart to counter. For someone eager to get her married off her father certainly knew how to apply a good guilt trip. Sometimes Agnes wondered if mothers were as overbearing as fathers.

"Fine, we'll do the alphabet, but then geography?" Agnes asked with a wide almost comical smile.

Frollo chuckled and said "Very well, child. I don't know how you manage to twist my arm so often. Anyway, lets begin. A?"

"Apostle," Agnes replied.

"Good. B?"

"Blasphemy," Agnes continued automatically.

"C?"

"Consecration."

"D?"

"Damnation."

"E?"

"Eternal damnation," Agnes laughed.

Frollo laughed a little as well at her clever rote before continuing with "F?"

"Festival. Oops, uh...Frollo?" Agnes corrected, trying way too hard to sound innocent.

"Agnes..." When Frollo said her name like that it was the warning before the viper struck.

"Oh for Pete's sake, Father!" Agnes finally erupted, not heeding the warning, "It's one day out of the year, and every year I miss it!"

"You left the house just the other day to go to market with me-" Frollo began.

"That's not enough! I'm tired of being stuck in the house day in and day out!" Agnes exclaimed in frustration, "I do everything you ask. I wash the clothes, clean the floors, keep up with my lessons, dust the furniture, clean the chamber pots, and entertain guests even when they're obnoxious. Tell me, give me one good reason, why I don't deserve to have one day off to enjoy the festival! I mean, you get to go every year! Why can't I?"

"I don't go to enjoy myself," Frollo replied icily, "I am there because as a public official I have to be. You do not understand what a rat infested snake pit that festival actually is. It's nothing but gypsies, thieves, pickpockets, drunkards, and lewd dancers. If I could avoid it I would, but I can't. What I can do is protect you from such evils. Try to understand that a good Christian woman isn't safe on the streets with unprincipled men searching for harlots and hussies."

"I know how to be careful," Agnes retorted, "And if I accompanied you it wouldn't matter. You could protect me better than anyone in this city. You always do."

"That is not the only issue and you know it," Frollo replied sternly, "Your greatest enemy is still out there, the sun, and the festival lasts all day. Right now you look just like any other fair maiden, but spend too long in the sun and the world will know your secret. We wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

Agnes started to speak, but her words died in her throat as she hung her head. She knew he was right. Her most closely guarded secret, one that only she and her father knew, would be revealed. Everyone knew Agnes was a foundling and many believed Frollo a charitable man for taking her in, but that goodwill would die if they knew the truth about Agnes. The sun would turn her skin dark, and her gypsy heritage would be revealed.

"I know it hurts, Agnes," Frollo said consolingly, "I know you are a devout Christian woman. I know you are chaste and your soul is on the right course for salvation. It would not matter to _them_, however. All they would see is a gypsy hiding in their midst. It would take next to nothing for one of them to accuse you of witchcraft. I am only doing this to protect you, my dear child. You cannot go out there. If you need something to do, perhaps you could read over your geography lessons. We can discuss them later when I get home."

"Yes, Father," Agnes replied softly, too broken to fight.

"That's a good girl, Agnes," Frollo replied as he patted her head, "Oh, and tomorrow a new suitor is coming over for wine and cake. This one looks promising too, my new captain of the guard; Phoebus De Chateaupers."

Agnes sighed but didn't say anything. Frollo put on his hat and walked out to the festival while Agnes stayed inside and waved goodbye. She hated this. Every year it was the same. Every year she was denied the chance to have fun and dance like she wanted to do, and all because she had to be born a gypsy. Why couldn't her skin just stay pale when she went out? Why couldn't she be allowed to dance and explore? Why was she like this?

This wasn't fair. Agnes realized in that moment that this could be her last chance for freedom. She knew she would never truly be free in her life. She knew that by this time next year she would be married and probably pregnant. Out of her father's care and in the care of some other man. If she was going to end up tied down though, she wanted one memory of freedom to cherish. She wanted one day in her life where her destiny was her own.

With these thoughts in her head, her mind was made up. Agnes changed into her green dress with the gold trim and placed a yellow hood over her head. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the sun off her fragile skin. Today was her day. Today was the Feast of Fools, a day to break rules...a day to be free.

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Clopin Trouillefou, the king of the gypsies, was coordinating his subjects in The Court of Miracles. Today was the Feast of Fools, one of the biggest money making days of the year and a day when gypsies were free to roam the streets as they please without persecution. Because of Paris being such a big city for such a grand event, many new Romani families and argots were making their way to The Court of Miracles.

Clopin polished his vermillion colored jester's mask in preparation for the festival. As master of ceremonies it was his job to look his best. He was interrupted however by one of his subjects announcing the arrival of three new gypsies and one new animal.

"New animal?" Clopin asked himself, "Just great. That means we need more hay for the droppings. I just hope this one knows more tricks than that toothless bear from a few weeks ago."

When Clopin got there he saw a short fat old woman in a blue and purple outfit holding the leash of a black and white goat. Next to her was a lanky little boy with yellow and orange clothes and a yellow bandana. Next to him was...something. Clopin had to do a double take to see what the third gypsy looked like, but he still wasn't sure what he was looking at. The third one was an adult male with fair skin, red hair, a hunchback, one eye with the other covered by a giant wart, tiny bandy legs, big ape arms, and a purple and red outfit with jangly bells on it. In short, it looked like some kind of hobgoblin.

"Welcome to The Court of Miracles!" Clopin exclaimed magnanimously; not showing a hint of the trepidation he felt, "So, should I put you under performers, pickpockets, beggars, or other?"

"Aristotle performs," The old woman replied curtly.

"Okay, and which of these fine...uh..._gentlemen_, is Aristotle?" Clopin asked hesitantly.

"The goat," The old woman replied bluntly, "I am Sabelle, and this is my son Quasimodo and my nephew Lorenzo."

"You _birthed_ that thing!?" Clopin couldn't help himself from asking.

"Shut up," Sabelle grumbled.

"What kind of a name is Quasimodo anyway?" Clopin asked rudely.

"He was born on Quasimodo Sunday," Sabelle explained, "I'm not creative with names."

"Where can we put Aristotle until the show?" Quasimodo asked politely (at least when compared to Sabelle).

"Oh, uh, over there with the sheep, goats, and chickens," Clopin replied as he pointed to a large pen.

"Thank you, your majesty!" Lorenzo shouted as he waved and walked backwards from the gypsy king; Quasimodo and the goat following him.

When the boys left Sabelle turned to Clopin and said "You know, I haven't seen you since you were a scrawny little boy no bigger than Lorenzo. You probably don't remember me, but I was here for a few weeks while waiting for a boat to Madrid. Didn't much care for Madrid. The Spanish can be real louts when they think you're up to no good."

"Indeed," Clopin replied dryly, "So, will you and your boys be staying, or are you just passing through?"

"We'll see," Sabelle replied noncommittally, "Also, aside from the goat Lorenzo can pick pockets and Quasimodo is going to set up a booth to sell his carved wooden figures."

"Uh, Parisians are very squeamish," Clopin tried to warn her, "Should he really-?"

"No, he shouldn't," Sabelle cut him off, "And he won't. He makes the dolls, and I sell them. Also, anyone crosses my boy and they'll regret it."

"Why? Are you going to beat them up?" Clopin asked jokingly.

"No, he is," Sabelle replied seriously, "My Quasimodo is strong as an ox, and when someone owes me a favor I usually send him to _collect_."

Clopin cringed at that thought. Not only an accursed creature, but a mean one too. Well, Clopin could always use more muscle in The Court of Miracles, so part of him hoped this new family would stay.

Sabelle turned from Clopin and walked toward the pens where Quasimodo and Lorenzo were playing with the animals. Quasimodo saw her coming and eagerly ran up to meet her. He was smiling from ear to ear, and she loved that for one moment he could actually enjoy something without worrying about townspeople or mobs. The court of Miracles truly was a miracle as far as she was concerned.

"Mama! When can we set up our booth?" Quasimodo asked excitedly.

"Now honey, it's _your_ booth. I'm just your salesman," Sabelle replied fondly, "So, let's see the new figures you carved for the festival."

Quasimodo took the red satchel from around his belt and rooted around for a couple wooden figures. He pulled out a goat with its hoof up, a goat sitting in some grass, and a goat getting ready to charge with its horns down.

"More goats?" His mother asked in dismay, "Honey, people around here think goats cavort with the devil. I don't think we'll sell many goats. Do you have anything else?"

"I can't help it, Mama. Aristotle is the only one that will hold still for me," Quasimodo lamented, "I can only carve things I've seen before, and you won't let me carve any of our gypsy brothers and sisters."

"Because then it could be used against us," Sabelle reminded him, "If the guards had detailed pictures of the people they're searching for it could spell trouble for us. Why don't you carve something that will sell better? Like some sheep, or a pretty girl, or an angel. People love angels."

"But I've never seen an angel," Quasimodo pointed out.

"Sure you have!" Sabelle replied encouragingly, "We pass their abbeys all the time. There are angel statues in virtually every town we visit."

"But those are statues," Quasimodo replied, "I mean, what is the essence of a real angel? What are they like?"

"An angel is just a person with wings," Sabelle shrugged, "I suppose, they represent the perfect merger of beauty, kindness, and mightiness. They are powerful beautiful forces of good that help people when they need it."

"Exactly. I've never seen anything like that," Quasimodo clarified, "No one has ever helped us. We only help each other. Even then, there aren't many people I would call good, let alone a force of goodness. Just putting wings on a human isn't enough. I can't carve what I can't see. Maybe a monster like me just couldn't understand an angel."

"You understand plenty," His mother refuted, "Now brush Aristotle's fur before we go out there. Oh, and sharpen Lorenzo's knife. I assume Clopin will want as many pickpockets out there as possible."

"Yes, Mama," Quasimodo replied compliantly.

Quasimodo then went back to the holding pen where Lorenzo was holding a chicken with flapping wings trying to escape.

"Lorenzo, stop tormenting other people's dinner," Quasimodo laughed.

"I heard Aunt Sabelle," Lorenzo said nonchalantly as he threw the chicken into the air and watched it land grumpily on its feet, "I'll brush Aristotle and take care of the knife. I know you've got to practice your faces."

"She hates it when I do this," Quasimodo shook his head, "Maybe this year I shouldn't."

"And let go of your five year winning streak? Quasi, you have a gift, and this is your one time of the year to show off to the world," Lorenzo said impishly, "So, which mask are you going to go with? Gargoyle? Jester? Oh, maybe pig?"

"I'm thinking owl this year," Quasimodo whispered mischievously, "Whatever it is, it can't look worse than my real face. That way I can really shock the crowd."

"I've seen these Bourgeois Parisians. You're a shoe-in for king of fools this year," Lorenzo said confidently, "You think they'll let you sit at the big feast like they did in Barcelona?"

"Who knows? These guys never get to have any fun with Judge Claude-Hopper around," Quasimodo joked.

"Maybe if you're frightening enough you'll give the old fop a heart attack," Lorenzo laughed.

"Nah, I don't wanna hurt anyone," Quasimodo replied, "I just like that for one day of the year my ugliness isn't a curse. On this day, I'm not a monster. I'm a king."


	3. Topsy Turvy

_Author's Notes: I've really enjoyed writing this story so far. I would like to thank those of you that have read this story. It's always cool to see people who like my work, even if it's for a fandom I don't normally write for. I actually have another idea for a HOND fanfic, but I probably won't write it right away since this idea is better and I'd rather stay focused for the moment. Thank you for stopping by and reading this latest chapter of "The Prince of Fools" :)_

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Chapter 3

Topsy Turvy

The Feast of Fools was under way in Paris, and the crowd was already in ecstasy with singing, dancing, and drinking. Frollo hated sitting in his official seat during this glorified orgy and pretending he didn't detest every moment of it. At least one good bit of news came for Frollo when he met his new captain of the guard, Phoebus De Chateaupers. Phoebus seemed like a strong man of good stock, though he did cringe a bit when Frollo showed him his predecessor being whipped for his disappointing performance. Oh well. Frollo would just have to oversee Phoebus's orientation during this transition period.

Meanwhile on the other side of the crowd Agnes was feeling overwhelmed by everything she was seeing and hearing. There were tents, booths, dancers, ribbons, performers, people, everything. She stumbled several times and bumped into people trying to not be too conspicuous. Even if she didn't get out much everyone in Paris knew who she was and she had to keep herself concealed lest someone rat her out and tell her father.

Part of Agnes was also feeling unnerved by just how many gypsies were in the crowd. She knew she was probably just being silly, but she had grown up her entire life hearing stories about how gypsies ate children, raped women, stabbed people in the streets, and called upon the devil with their dark otherworldly powers. She was sure they wouldn't hurt anyone today while the festival benefited them, but she was still nervous about being around so many of them by herself.

She walked over to the booths and had trouble getting past the crowds that were waiting in line for the food vendors. Agnes wanted to find someplace where there weren't too many people so she could just stand and take a break, so she found a booth manned by an old gypsy woman selling trinkets. When Agnes made it to the front of the line she pretended to look so it wouldn't be obvious she was just standing around for no good reason.

"See anything you like, miss?" The gypsy asked her.

"Um, uh," Agnes looked over the items trying to think of an excuse to not buy anything, but then she noticed how adorable most of the figures were, "Aww, a goat with a bouquet of flowers in its mouth! That's adorable."

"A steal at only 3 sous," The gypsy woman tried to tempt her mark, "My son carves each one of these with great care. For some reason he was in a real goat mood this week."

"I like goats," Agnes smiled, "My father thinks they're dirty animals, but when I was little I always wanted one."

"Well now you could carry one with you anywhere you go," The gypsy woman pointed out, "Listen, you seem nice, so I'll let you have that one for 2 sous."

Agnes knew she shouldn't throw her pocket money away on useless decorations, but there was something so soulful about the way that goat's eyes were carved. She also thought it prudent to give business to gypsies that were actually working for a living instead of stealing. With her mind made up, Agnes gave the old woman the coins and put the little goat in her purse.

As Agnes made her way to the stage where everyone else was going to gawk she saw a tall lanky gypsy man ascend the stairs in a single leaping bound. He was colorfully dressed with jingle bells on his purple and yellow doublet and a mysterious glint in his eye. Agnes was intrigued. What kind of show could be coming up next?

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The gypsy man shouted on the stage, "Come one! Come all! See the finest girl in France, make her entrance to entrance! See her float and see her prance! Dance, Grizelda, dance!"

Then the gypsy threw a smoke bomb and the next thing everyone saw was a very tall very fat gypsy man with a five 'o clock shadow scantily clad in a red Arabian princess outfit. The crowd laughed as the cross-dressing gypsy swayed his large hips back and forth and imitated the belly dance of a harem girl.

"Look at that disgusting display!" Frollo spat as he spoke to Phoebus.

"No way!" Phoebus grumbled as pushed his helmet visor over his eyes with a loud _clank_.

Meanwhile Clopin was looking at the dancer as well, and then sharply turned to one of his workers.

"What is Hugo doing up there?" Clopin hissed, "Where is Grizelda?"

"Hanged last week," The fellow cutthroat reminded him.

"Oh, right," Clopin muttered, "Well, at least Hugo is funny. We'd better wrap this up quick though and get to the crowning of the king of fools. I can tell that ol' Judge Foppo is about to pop a blood vessel."

The other gypsy laughed along with Clopin over the joke, and then saw Hugo taunting the judge by jiggling his fat can too close to the man's chair. Frollo's face was of course blood red with rage at being made fun of by some sinful cross-dressing gypsy pig. Hugo of course could have cared less what his potential executioner thought of him, as long as the crowd laughed and had fun.

Agnes meanwhile had stopped paying attention to the goofy dancer and was listening to the music being played. She didn't get to hear music like this, and it felt as if the rhythm was penetrating down to her very soul. She had to dance. She had to feel the music. It was the greatest feeling in the world...for about twenty seconds. Agnes had forgotten she was on a crowded city street, and soon her twirling made her bump into someone who pushed her out of the way and into a tent.

Agnes fell through the tent and onto a dividing cloth. She heard some man yell at her, but the yelling was cut short when she lifted her head and her hood fell to her shoulders.

"Oh no!" Agnes gasped, knowing no one was supposed to see her, "I'm sorry! I-I-I, I just-!"

"Forget it," The man replied easily as Agnes quickly put her hood back over her face, "It's a party. Things get a little crazy. I understand. That's why I'm staying in here until time for the king of fools ceremony."

"Oh, of course, I get it," Agnes replied awkwardly as she backed away from the hooded stranger in the strange costume, "Oh and by the way, great mask. An owl is perfect for this ceremony."

"Thanks. I thought so too," The man replied almost bashfully, "Well, um, enjoy the rest of the festival, mademoiselle."

"Thanks, you too," Agnes quickly said before ducking out of there.

Agnes breathed a sigh of relief when she was outside with her hood back on. She knew it was weird to be this nervous talking to some random guy in a mask, but she wasn't supposed to be out. The covert nature of her outing was putting Agnes on high alert.

When Agnes went out the fat dancer was finishing his bit and the musicians were already changing the tune they were playing to something more suspenseful. The suspense then suddenly turned to silliness as the master of ceremonies made his way back to the stage and started singing.

_Here it is, the moment you've been waiting for  
Here it is, you know exactly what's in store  
Now's the time we laugh until our sides get sore  
Now's the time we crown the king of fools!  
So make a face that's horrible and frightening  
Make a face as gruesome as a gargoyle's wing  
For the face that's ugliest will be the king of fools!  
Why?  
Topsy turvy!  
Ugly folk, forget your shyness  
Topsy turvy!  
You could soon be called 'your highness'!  
Put your foulest features on display  
Be the king of Topsy Turvy Day!_

Agnes didn't quite understand what was going on. Since she had never attended a festival before and her father never told her many details she didn't understand why ugliness was the marker of a king of fools. Nonetheless she watched with the others as one by one homely Parisians and gypsies alike were paraded in front of the crowd. Apparently last year's king was the town drunk, and judging from his goofy features he would be tough to beat.

One by one each ugly face was either cheered or booed based on how naturally hideous they were. One guy was booted off stage because he tried to win by painting eyeballs on his bald head. The crowd seemed to love the old woman with the twitchy eye and the man with no teeth that could move his chin close to his nose.

Finally the man Agnes had seen before with the owl mask came out amid the music and the jeering crowd. A mask was a disqualifier, but then he removed the mask and revealed...

When the crowd saw the face behind the owl mask, the noise suddenly ceased and everybody either gasped, screamed, or looked away. This was no ordinary ugliness. This thing, whatever he was, looked like a cross between a gargoyle with leprosy and a melted candle. The monster's formerly smiling face suddenly went slack as he realized the people weren't recovering as fast as usual from his display. Clopin sensed the tension too and stepped up to smooth things over.

"Hey everyone, you asked for the ugliest face in all of Paris, and here he is!" Clopin announced, "Quasimodo, the mysterious one-eyed hunchback!"

The crowd, assured that everything was under control, cheered and made Quasimodo the king of the festival. That was no surprise to Quasimodo. He had won every year since he was 15 years old. He waved to the crowd as he accepted the fool's crown and the fake scepter. This celebration was turning out to be a great one, and with any luck Lorenzo could pick a few of their pockets while they were distracted by his coronation ceremony.

Everything went south however when one of Frollo guards realized they had a golden opportunity to have some _fun_ with the gypsies' latest freak of nature.

"You think that's ugly?" The guard asked as he threw rotten fruit into Quasimodo's face, "Now that's ugly!"

"Hey! Who threw that?" Quasimodo demanded to know.

The crowd laughed at this new turn of events, and Quasimodo was confused. He had been to many of these festivals in his lifetime, and he'd never seen one where the king of fools was pelted with vegetables and assaulted by the crowd. The whole point was to curb base instincts and have fun. Then again, perhaps this reaction _was_ Paris' instinct.

"Tie him up!" Someone in the crowd shouted.

"What?" Quasimodo uttered in disbelief, "Hey!"

Before he could get his bearings however several strong men from the crowd started throwing rope over him and tying him to the pillory, which is basically a Lazy Susan for criminals to be punished on. Quasimodo tried to break free, and through his strength he did manage to break a few ropes, but they just kept coming back with more.

Sabelle, seeing her son in trouble, left her booth and tried to get through the crowd to her son, but there were just too many people in the way. She just _knew_ something like this would happen one day if he kept provoking people. Unfortunately, she could not save him from whatever was going to happen to him, and she feared the mob would kill him.

Quasimodo felt the pillory beneath him begin to turn, and soon he was being pelted with rotten food and empty liquor jugs as he grew dizzier and dizzier from all the spinning. He tried to break free still, but he was too weak. He knew in that moment he hated Paris, Court of Miracles or no, and he hoped he would live long enough to leave it as well as the many barbaric townspeople in this place.

Agnes, who was still standing near the front of the stage, was horrified by what she was seeing. That gypsy man had done nothing to them, and yet everyone was making sport of him like he was a mindless bear to be baited. Agnes warred with herself over whether or not there was anything she could do. She couldn't leave him like this, yet she didn't know what all could happen to her for intervening. Hearing the helpless man cry out again however, she made up her mind. She couldn't leave him to be tortured by the crowd.

Agnes started climbing the stairs, and everyone stopped throwing things to see what she would do. They wondered if this random woman in the crowd would hit the tied up hunchback, spit at him, or maybe free him. Either way it was sure to be entertaining, so all was quiet as they waited with bated breath.

Quasimodo's vertigo lessened now that the wheel had stopped moving. He looked at the crowd, and then saw that a woman was coming toward him; the same one from his dressing tent. He was sure she was there to attack him, and he was afraid of her in that moment. Like a cat cornered by a large dog however, Quasimodo showed his fear by arching his back and giving her the most hateful glare and growl he could manage, all in the hopes that his ugliness alone might save him from her wrath.

Agnes stopped moving toward him for a moment when she saw his reaction. What was she _doing_? He was a gypsy, a heathen, a devil. The way he looked at her...it was clear that once he was free he could very well be dangerous. What if he bit her? Put a curse on her? Beat her? Killed her? Despite her fear however, she knew he was a suffering creature that needed her help. He had done nothing wrong that day. Steeling herself, she approached him and pulled out her handkerchief.

Quasimodo cringed, fearing what she would do. He was surprised however by the gentleness of her touch as she wiped away the fetid juice and plant matter from his face. He looked at her, and saw the pity and trepidation in her emerald green eyes. She was still afraid of him he could tell, and somehow that made what she was doing even more admirable to him.

"I'm sorry," Agnes whispered to Quasimodo, "What happened to you was wrong. Are you alright?"

"I...uh..." Quasimodo found himself tongue-tied by the kindness shown by this woman; a kindness he didn't think townspeople of any land were capable of.

Judge Frollo saw this display as well; the hooded woman touching the deformed flesh of that horrible monster. At first he was merely disgusted that any woman would go near such a vile demon, but then he recognized the green dress and yellow hood as clothes that belonged to his daughter.

"Agnes!" Frollo called out with authority, and she stood straighter at the tone of his voice, "Get down from there at once!"

"Of course, Father!" Agnes hollered back, "Just as soon as I help this poor man."

"_Father_?" Lorenzo whispered to Hugo, "_Is the judge also a priest too_?"

"I said get down from there now!" Frollo insisted as he pointed to the ground, "That gypsy demon is probably riddled with disease."

"But Father, he has done nothing to deserve this treatment!" Agnes protested, "Is it not your job to stop such riots? He was attacked for no reason, and if he cannot have justice against a faceless mob then at least he should be allowed mercy in his time of distress."

"_Silence_!" Frollo seethed.

Agnes was torn; not knowing what to say or do. She knew her father was only concerned about her well being, but at the same time she couldn't leave the hunchback tied to the pillory for the crowd to assault anew. Then again, she had no means to free him, so what was she even still doing up there?

"_Mademoiselle_?" Quasimodo whispered to her, "_There's a knife in my belt_."

"A knife!? Why?" Agnes asked worriedly, afraid he was threatening her.

"Please...use it to free me," Quasimodo requested, his one good eye pleading with her.

"Agnes!" Frollo called out again, "What are you still doing up there? Get away from that misshapen monster!"

Agnes wavered for only a moment, and then in a motion that took only a couple seconds she swiped Quasimodo's wood carving knife, cut the ropes, dropped the knife on the ground, and then scampered off before the hunchback could decide to take his revenge out on her. Quasimodo stood up, but he was unsteady on his feet after such treatment.

The crowd wasn't sure what to do about the situation. They had fun tormenting the ugly gypsy man, but with Agnes Frollo herself standing up for him yet Claude Frollo condoning the assault...no one knew what to think anymore.

Frollo stepped down from his chair and motioned for Phoebus to follow him to the stage. Quasimodo panicked, knowing he couldn't outrun the guards on their horses and not knowing what they would do to him now.

Clopin, who had been subtly making his way to the stage since the fools parade went to pot, finally was able to jump up on stage in front of Quasimodo. The hunchback didn't know what the gypsy king had in mind, but he hoped it was something that would save him from the ire of Paris.

"Well ladies and gentlemen, this festival has been fun," Clopin said with a flourish and a bow, "But I'm afraid we must bid you adieu!"

With that Clopin grabbed Quasimodo by the hand and then threw his cloak and a smoke bomb simultaneously in a practiced maneuver to distract the crowd while they made a run for it. To the Parisians however it looked as if the gypsies had magically disappeared.

"Witchcraft," Frollo muttered darkly, and then in a louder voice he said, "Guards! Arrest the sorcerers!"

Clopin and Quasimodo meanwhile were running through the crowd trying to go undetected. It was to no avail however, and the guards saw the pair immediately. Frollo's horsemen gave chase, and Clopin dragged Quasimodo by the arm as he ran faster.

"What...What do we do?" Quasimodo asked breathlessly as they ran.

"Keep running, boy! I know where to go!" Clopin assured his subject.

Clopin and Quasimodo then ran under a stilt walker, who managed to incapacitate the swordsmen on foot by kicking them squarely in between their legs. The horsemen were close to gaining on them, but Clopin noticed a fruit cart and stopped to throw some gourds and cabbages at their heads, which caused a few of them to fall off. Quasimodo stuck by the gypsy king since he didn't really know the plan. He only hoped Clopin was as intelligent and wiry as everyone said he was.

Captain Phoebus intercepted them on his horse, and Clopin used his hands to backflip over the horse while Quasimodo ran under it. Phoebus tried to use his sword to stop the hunchback, but Quasimodo was thankfully too fast for the former crusade soldier. Unfortunately the sword caught Quasimodo's cloak, and he had to pull it off himself before he got captured.

Quasimodo didn't know where they were running or how they were going to get back to The Court of Miracles, and his confusion only grew when he saw Clopin running straight for the tallest building he'd ever seen in his life.

"What is that?" Quasimodo asked as he pointed to where they were going.

"Notre Dame cathedral!" Clopin replied without slowing down.

"That's a church? Good grief, these people must be multiplying pretty fast to need that much space!" Quasimodo commented.

"Just get inside!" Clopin ordered, "Sanctuary! We claim sanctuary! Hah!"

With those words Clopin and Quasimodo ran inside, and the knights that had been chasing them stopped in their tracks. Nothing outside of an edict from the king himself could violate the law of sanctuary.

The guards just stood around the cathedral for a moment, like hungry foxes that had been bested by a rabbit.

"Well," Phoebus finally said after a moment, "They're God's problem now."


	4. Sanctuary

_Author's Notes: Thank you for tuning in to this new chapter of "The Prince of Fools". I've been feeling really inspired to write for the HOND fandom, which means this probably won't be my only fic. I've figured out the ending for this one already though, so that'll be helpful in keeping me straight on writing this one. I'll be working for the next few weeks on a project for a client, so updates might be a little slow. Your patience is appreciated. Thank you for reading this story and I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)_

_**Fiona: **Thank you for your lovely review! I think it's cool we were both into this idea. Great minds work alike, huh? Also you speak English very well :)_

* * *

Chapter 4

Sanctuary

After arriving in Notre Dame, Clopin and Quasimodo didn't even bother going up to the pews or to the monks milling around the main area. Instead they both sat down against a stone wall in a part of the cathedral where the torch light seemed to keep its distance. It was cold, it was uncomfortable, but at least no one would bother them here while they rested from their harrowing escape.

"I can't believe this," Clopin muttered petulantly, "This is usually the one day of the year when Frollo can't touch us. I've never seen a Feast of Fools go so wrong. I just hope the others made it back to The Court of Miracles while Frollo's goons were distracted."

"I've never had to claim sanctuary before," Quasimodo quietly told the gypsy king, "I've been in trouble before, don't get me wrong. It's just that usually when there's an angry mob I can outrun them and hide out until we leave the city."

"Yeah, it's a real drag, huh?" Clopin replied with a wry smile, "Stone walls to keep us in, stone walls to keep the sunshine out. I don't know what it is about Parisians and their love of drab cold stone buildings."

Just then the vesper bells started to ring, and Quasimodo flinched in surprise.

"This place is creepy," Quasimodo remarked as he huddled closer to the wall, "I hate bells. They always ring bells for executions."

"Hey, at least no one's tried to cough Latin in our faces yet," Clopin joked, "Some festival day, huh?"

"It wasn't all bad though," Quasimodo said as a small smile crept onto his deformed face, "That girl was amazing. She was so kind, so beautiful, so..._perfect_. Did you see the way she stood up to Frollo? And for me! No one has ever done anything like that for me before! Oh, but if only I could kiss the hand that so delicately plucked me from the crowd's malice."

"Hold it, lumpy!" Clopin interrupted Quasimodo's daydreaming, "You don't ever want to see that damsel again, believe me. She's Judge Claude Frollo's daughter, and the most eligible bachelorette in Paris. If Frollo so much as saw you _glance_ at Agnes he would boil you in oil before drawing and quartering you. That girl is off limits, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Quasimodo replied without argument, "I've seen Frollo's type before. Once in Madrid I was accused of trying to rape a woman just because I followed her in an attempt to return a comb she dropped. My family and I were chased out of town, and had they caught us I would've been killed for sure. I'm not stupid. I know better than to mess with noblewomen."

"Good," Clopin nodded in satisfaction, "Now, I'm going to see if there's any food in the donation bin. Don't worry, boy. We'll find a way out of here soon enough. Just keep alert and keep your head down."

With those words Clopin left Quasimodo to his own devices. The gypsy king worried about what would become of his latest subject and himself. He knew Frollo was out for blood since Agnes had defied him, and of course Frollo's anger would be taken out on Clopin and his people. He was also beginning to understand that Sabelle had not told Clopin the full story about her son. Yes, Quasimodo was as formidable as the old hag had said, but he was also childlike in a way that Clopin had not expected from such a savage looking man. Clopin had hoped for a bodyguard, but it seemed more likely that Quasimodo was the one in need of protection.

Quasimodo meanwhile was still sitting against the wall thinking about the day's events. While the trauma was still fresh in his mind, even clearer in his imagination was the face of Agnes Frollo. He could see her in his mind's eye; the sun beating down on the golden border of her hood and the raven locks that managed to escape it's hold. He could also see her kind emerald green eyes, so full of pity and emotions on display for the whole world to see. Her honeysuckle skin looked rather pale yet almost Romani, making her seem universal.

Then Quasimodo thought about the conversation he had with his mother before the festival. He wanted to carve an angel, or at least something other than a goat, but he didn't know how. He didn't know what an angel was. She had said an angel is the perfect mixture of beauty, kindness, and mightiness. Agnes was all of those things. She was beautiful, obviously. She was kind in the way she showed mercy in his hour of need. She was mighty in that she stood up to Frollo and could swiftly handle a wood carving knife to cut his ropes. By this definition it was clear to Quasimodo; Agnes Frollo was an angel.

With this thought in mind he pulled a bag from his belt and from that bag he pulled out a block of wood. He used his spare carving knife since his good knife had been left on the pillory, and he began to carve the vision dancing in his head; his beautiful guardian angel.

* * *

Agnes awoke the next morning still sore from the beating her father had given her after returning home. As usual she had stood her ground and presented her case, but she had to admit there was no winning a case against an ill-tempered judge; especially when that judge was her father.

"You humiliated me in front of all of Paris!" Frollo had yelled at her.

"I'm sorry Father, but I wouldn't have had to do that if you had just freed that gypsy yourself!" Agnes had argued her point.

"He is a conjured demon created by Clopin Trouillefou, a known sorcerer," Frollo declared, "I saw Clopin disappear in a puff of smoke with that _thing_, and then they dared to defile Notre Dame with their odious presence!"

"Father-!"

"And to think Agnes, you allowed yourself within striking distance of that hunchbacked devil!" Frollo shouted, but then in a more composed voice said, "I know you have a good heart, my dear. I know you looked at him and saw an injured dog; a bird with a broken wing. Understand however that such things are not comparable to the deserved punishment of a pagan monster. He could have cast a spell on you if you had not gotten out of there in time. By freeing him you have allowed a plague to spread throughout Paris. I have tried to keep these gypsies contained, but I cannot do my job if uninformed citizens such as yourself interfere."

"But wouldn't showing compassion give them a reason to change their ways?" Agnes asked, "You too are capable of mercy, because you adopted me from a careless gypsy mother. You made me into who I am today. You helped me learn how to be saved. Could we not try the same thing with the gypsies? Even monsters must surely be capable of more than hatred and evil, if given a chance for redemption."

"No, Agnes, not ones such as the hunchback," Frollo replied in a tone that attempted to sound comforting but had the opposite effect, "You know their witches' sabbaths are made with his type in mind. I wouldn't be surprised if he has eaten the children of decent families who let their guard down for only a single moment. Not to mention the lustful urges of such a creature. The thoughts of a mind like that must be wholly impure. I shudder to think what he imagines when he looks at you, my poor Agnes."

Agnes wasn't completely convinced, but she didn't want to fight anymore on the matter. Her father's words were an odd mixture of cruelty and comfort. He hated the gypsies and said things about them that were truly vile, but at the same time he said such things to protect his daughter. Agnes knew he must've been worried when he saw her on the pillory near that gypsy hunchback. She knew she should have stayed out of it. Yet when she thought about it, she didn't regret it. She did a good thing, the sort of thing Jesus did for lepers and blind men and lowly ones. How could that be wrong?

As Agnes went about her daily routine the morning after however, all she felt was sore and stupid. Not stupid for helping the hunchback, but stupid for going to the festival at all. Her father had good reason for not wanting her there. The people at the festival were drunken louts, and she had no business being among such a crowd.

"Good morning, Agnes," Frollo said in a genial tone as he came down for breakfast, "I trust you are feeling well?"

She wanted to say she was bruised and felt like socking him on the jaw, but she refrained from such an unladylike gesture. Instead she simply said "I'm fine, Father. And you?"

"I have a full day of work ahead, I'm afraid," Frollo replied before taking a sip of his tea, "The day after a festival is always busy. I have to hear out complaints from those who have been stolen from, search out thieves and con artists, and administer justice where appropriate. Sometimes I feel like the clean up crew for this wretched city. Don't worry though Agnes, I have already scheduled an activity that should sufficiently entertain you."

"Oh?" Agnes asked; surprised.

"Yes. Captain Phoebus De Chateaupers is coming by today to call on you. You are to show him around town since he has been away for seven years fighting in The Crusades. Perhaps if he pleases you we can arrange for the two of you to be married by next month."

"That seems...rather sudden, Father," Agnes replied cautiously, not wishing to anger him again yet hating his idea.

"Not at all, Agnes," Frollo refuted, "You are already 20 years old. People are beginning to talk. If we don't find you a good match soon you might end up an old spinster. Now we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"No, Father," Agnes sighed like a child listening to a lecture, "Fine, I'll walk with him, but I reserve judgment for after I've gotten to know him."

"That's all I ask," Frollo said placatingly, though in that backhanded way that made Agnes feel both indignant and guilty, "Now get dressed. The captain should be here within the hour."

Agnes hadn't finished her food, but she felt that disobeying her father after that fight they had last night was a terrible idea, so she left her plate and went up to her room to change into her day clothes. The events of the festival had yet to leave her mind, and she hoped a fun morning stroll with the captain would help her to get her mind off of gypsies, festivals, and monsters.

* * *

Clopin slept in his small open cell in Notre Dame, content to snooze the day away. He was in that blissful area between sleeping and waking, and he felt a warm body on him that he assumed was one of his fairer subjects. He believed her name was Genevieve. Oh, she was so lovely, and her arms were wrapped around his waist as he placed his hand over hers. It was a perfect night. Funny, her arm felt bigger than he remembered.

With that thought the gypsy king blearily opened his eyes, and remembered that he was in Notre Dame under sanctuary. Wait, if he was in the cathedral, then whose arm was...?

"GAH!" Clopin shrieked and jumped up when he realized Quasimodo was in his bed basically using him as a stuffed bear, "Wake up, you lummox!"

"Huh?" Quasimodo grunted as he slowly sat up, "Is it time to eat yet?"

"What are you doing in my bed, you hairless camel? Don't you have a room of your own in this place?"

"I couldn't sleep," Quasimodo whined, "My family and I always sleep together to keep each other warm."

"Well I was warm enough, thank you very much!" Clopin shouted irately, "Also, you interrupted a good dream!"

"Sorry, sir," Quasimodo replied timidly as he ducked his head in shame, "I'm just...I don't feel safe here. This place is a monument to _their_ saints, to _their_ religion, to _their_ law. This is the opulent tower of our murderers and oppressors. How can we be safe here, my liege?"

"Ironic, isn't it?" Clopin smirked, "That while they kill us in the name of their religion they also use those very teachings to screw themselves over and give us a fighting chance. Believe it or not Quasimodo, this is the safest place in the world for us. This cathedral is sacred to them. They will not touch us without a direct order from the king of France, and he has no reason to trouble himself over two lowly gypsies. We're safe as long as we stay in here."

"Yeah, forever," Quasimodo pointed out bleakly.

"Don't worry, I'll think of a way to free ourselves," Clopin promised, "We just have to use our heads."

"As battering rams?" Quasimodo joked.

"Well, in your case it couldn't do any more damage," Clopin replied impishly.

Quasimodo smiled despite the remark at his expense, and for the moment the two gypsy men could be happy. One thing Clopin would've given his collection of daggers for though was a door to put on his cell to keep the clingy hunchback out. He didn't think his heart could take waking up to that face again.

* * *

Phoebus and Agnes walked alongside his horse through the streets of Paris. He wore his finest golden armor for the occasion in an effort to impress the fair maiden, but rather than look impressed Agnes just looked bored. The atmosphere was quiet in that awkward sort of way that makes one wish to speak yet fear speaking all at once.

As they walked Agnes stepped on some blue ribbon from the festival, and Phoebus held her arm as she tried to shake it off her shoe. She grumbled as the muddy piece of decoration fell to the ground, and them resumed her walk in as dignified a manner as she could muster.

"That was some party yesterday, huh?" Phoebus asked casually in an effort to start a conversation.

"It was awful," Agnes replied solemnly.

"Yeah, well, that's what the afterparty is for, right?" Phoebus joked, but Agnes just looked at him in confusion, "Oh, I'm guessing you don't drink."

"Not to excess, but I enjoy wine as much as the next person," Agnes replied without emotion.

"Oh, okay," Phoebus let the subject drop, but he was reaching for something he could say to get her to open up. Then again, Judge Frollo was cold and unfeeling. Maybe Agnes was like that too. No, she couldn't be. Not after what she did for that disfigured fellow at the festival. Oh...

"Agnes, that was pretty brave...what you did yesterday."

"What I did?"

"Yeah. I also wanted to stop the cruelty of the crowd, but I was afraid to mention it to Minister Frollo."

"I understand. Father has that effect on people."

"True. He holds my career in his hands, and I need this job," Phoebus vented, "I don't ever want to go back to the front lines again. I had to watch men die. I had to look into the eyes of friends and enemies alike as the light from their eyes faded to nothing, and bury them wherever we could. Some had last rites, and others...we just didn't have time. There was blood everywhere, and I wondered what the point of it all was. I'm sorry. A lady shouldn't have to hear about such a vulgar topic."

"No, it's okay," Agnes assured him, "You can tell me. I won't think less of you."

"Some soldiers said The Crusades made them callous to the suffering of others, but for me it had the opposite effect," Phoebus went on, "I used to only think of Christians as people with souls, but I learned fighting against the Muslims that people of all sorts feel basically the same things. We all grieve, we all feel strong convictions, and we all die. I went into the war hating them and everything they stood for, and I walked away hating myself. I understand that Jerusalem is a holy city, but it's holy for them too. It's too bad we can't just figure out how to share it."

"Do gypsies have souls?" Agnes suddenly asked.

"I don't see why not," Phoebus shrugged, "If you're worried about the hunchback, don't. He's tucked away in some crevice in Notre Dame, safe and sound. Your father can't get to him, and the hunchback can't get to you."

"You think I'm worried for my own safety?" Agnes asked in offense.

"I wouldn't blame you if you were," Phoebus replied undeterred, "You're young and attractive, and not skilled in combat. If I were you I'd be afraid of the hunchback. It's not that strange."

"I don't think he would hurt me," Agnes replied, "I just wish I could go see him, to see if he's okay. He wouldn't be trapped in Notre Dame if it wasn't for me. If I had left things alone the crowd would've eventually stopped, and he could've gone home to whatever kind of life he leads."

"You don't know that," Phoebus pointed out, "Personally, I think you saved his life. The mob could've killed him, even if it was just by accident. Don't beat yourself up for having a heart, Agnes."

"Thank you, Phoebus," Agnes said warmly, feeling a new appreciation for the handsome young guardsmen.

"You know, I think a good way for you to handle your troubles right _now_ is to _pray_," Phoebus enunciated his words carefully for emphasis.

"Pray for what?" Agnes asked, not getting the hint.

"That's up to you, but right now," Phoebus gestured to Notre Dame with his head, "I think this is a time for _prayer_ and _contemplation_."

Agnes looked at the church for a moment, and then finally understood what Phoebus was trying to say. He was going to cover for her if she decided to go inside and check on the gypsies. He smiled conspiratorially at her, and she gave him a grateful smile of her own. Agnes then turned toward the cathedral, and Phoebus leaned against his horse and kept a lookout for a certain surly judge...just in case.

Agnes hoped that Phoebus was right about gypsies having souls. She did worry on behalf of the deformed man, but more than that she worried about herself. She knew what she was even if the world couldn't see it. If gypsies didn't have souls then there was nothing inside of her to save, and then every effort to be a good person would be for naught. She needed to believe gypsies had souls, and she hoped speaking to the hunchback would prove it.


	5. The Angel and The Monster

_Author's Notes: I don't have much to say about this chapter, except it's rather dialogue heavy and I enjoyed writing it. Agnes and Quasimodo bonding is something I wanted to write since I started this fic, so finally I got the chance. Hope you guys enjoy it, and leave a review if you feel like it :)_

* * *

Chapter 5

The Angel and The Monster

Agnes stepped inside the familiar safe haven of Notre Dame and waited for her eyesight to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim candles and torches lining the walls. The main room for the parishioners was quite ornate with its many wall decorations, the rib-like structure of the ceiling, and of course the rose window that cast many different colors of light on the opposite wall. Agnes had been through this place many times with her father, but she had never entered the area she was seeking now; the sanctuary rooms that condemned criminals called home.

She had bravely told Phoebus that she was convinced the hunchback would not harm her, and part of her still wanted to believe that. Normally merely being in a church was enough to make the average man think twice about calling down violence on another, but the man Agnes was searching for was a gypsy and therefore felt no such reverence for Notre Dame. What if he was still angry about the previous day's unfair treatment? What if her father was right and such an ugly creature could only think bad unholy thoughts? What was Agnes thinking coming in here alone?

Agnes ascended the stairs and looked through the doorways of the various rooms for criminals under sanctuary. There was one man who was so old and grey that his beard practically dragged the floor. There was also a grown woman with very short hair, most likely a former prostitute. Agnes then saw the room of the gypsy king, that Clopin Trouillefou. He was snoring loudly as he slept; using his arms as a pillow against the hard stone ground.

Agnes actually felt a shiver of fear as she realized how close she was to the king of the gypsies. There was no barrier between herself and the man her father had told her was a sorcerer and a murderer. Agnes quickened her pace up the stairs and kept looking through the rooms for the hunchbacked man, hoping she wasn't making a mistake.

When she finally found his room the hunchback was sitting on the ground carving something out of wood; completely oblivious to the world around him. He had three little wood carvings next to him, which indicated he had been at it for some time before Agnes got there. She was quiet as she approached, afraid of disturbing him and ruining his artwork.

Since he wasn't looking Agnes decided to glance over at the three finished carvings. One was of a goat balancing a ball on its nose. It looked a lot like the goat figurine Agnes had bought at the festival, and she smiled realizing he must have made it. Agnes then winced when she realized she didn't remember the poor man's name. The second carving was a fork, but it had a lovely little rose carved onto the handle. The third figure appeared to be an angel with big beautiful wings, but instead of the normal poses like being in prayer or looking lovingly down at a mortal, this angel figurine was dancing like a gypsy would. It was an odd sight, made stranger still by the fact that its face was familiar...

"_It's me_," Agnes whispered out loud, and the hunchback shouted in surprise and scooted back further against the wall, "Oh, I'm sorry, good sir! I didn't mean to break your concentration, I just..."

"It's you," The hunchback said in astonishment, "W-W-What are you doing here, mademoiselle?"

"I, um, I just wanted to see if...if you were okay," Agnes realized how dumb that must have sounded. He was here. Of course he was okay.

"You came all the way up here just for that?" He asked, puzzled, "I mean, thank you! That's very, uh, kind of you. But I probably shouldn't talk to you. So, uh, goodbye."

Agnes felt a little slighted by that. She should have known though. He was a gypsy. Gypsies didn't want to befriend normal Parisians. Then again, she wasn't as normal as he likely assumed she was. She had wanted so badly to talk to him, to reassure him that not all Parisians were savages, but now that she was here she didn't really have anything prepared to say.

"I like your carvings," Agnes finally said in hopes of breaking the ice, "I bought one of them yesterday, I think. A goat holding a bouquet in its mouth. That one was yours, right?"

"It was," He replied, "You liked it? But I thought Parisians hated goats."

"Not all goats, just the ones that act as demonic familiars," Agnes explained, "And I doubt there are many of those anyway. Honestly I always wanted a goat as a child. My father instead got me a bird when I was 12. A few weeks later I got tired of watching it suffer from inside its cage so I released it back into the wild. I think I named it Feathers. I know, real creative right?"

Agnes chuckled then, and her easy laughter seemed to catch the hunchback off guard. He stood up slowly to make sure she wouldn't be frightened by any sudden movements, and then picked up his wood carvings to show them to her.

"My goat's name is Aristotle," He said as he showed her the new goat carving, "He's my muse as well as a very smart companion. I'd say most of my carvings are of him. I also like to carve people, but I usually can't carve people I know because most of them are wanted by the law. When I was younger I used to carve caricatures of townsfolk, but it was easier to do that back then because a little monster is less threatening than a fully grown monster."

Agnes tried not to wince, but he could still tell she was uneasy. She tried not to let it show, but the idea of being around lawless gypsies was still a frightful thing to her. His last statement did bring up a question in her mind, but she was nervous about asking so she held off.

"Oh, by the way, I don't know if you remember or not, but my name is Quasimodo," The titular hunchback introduced himself, "You are Agnes Frollo, correct?"

"How did you know?" Agnes gasped, fearing he devined it through otherworldly means.

"Clopin told me about you," Quasimodo replied sheepishly, "He said I shouldn't talk to you. That it would anger your father."

"It probably would," Agnes admitted, "But I was worried. You were tormented and shunned by Paris, and then nearly killed because I was the one who...I'm sorry. I know I've caused you enough trouble. I just wanted to see if you were going to be okay."

"Don't apologize. You saved me," Quasimodo replied in a tender voice Agnes wouldn't have expected from such a brutish looking man, "Normally my family and I have to save ourselves. I've never met a townsperson with such compassion and grace before. I don't see how a man like Judge Frollo could have raised someone as kind and caring as you."

"He's a good man, really," Agnes defended her father, "He's just...he has a very narrow viewpoint on what justice and righteousness are. He sees everything from a legal and hard-hearted perspective, but he is capable of mercy given the right circumstances. He adopted me when the rest of the world had left me to die, and elevated me to the position of an aristocratic lady. I owe him a great deal for that."

"That explains a lot," Quasimodo replied, and then with a smirk added, "Like why you look so much better than him."

"Goodness!" Agnes snorted, trying to contain her laughter.

Quasimodo then laughed with her, and for a moment the tension between them was lifted. Agnes felt a little more at ease seeing Quasimodo act so normally. Once the laughter died down though, she worked up the courage to ask her question, though she had a feeling it was a stupid thing to ask.

"Quasimodo? Where did you come from? What I mean is, I've heard rumors that you were...summoned. By Clopin Trouillefou."

"I come from every place, I guess," Quasimodo shrugged, "Well, and no place. My family and I don't really stay anywhere, but we go everywhere. As for Clopin, he offers safe haven to any gypsies who come to him, so that's why we came."

"Oh. Well, what I actually meant was..." Agnes felt so awkward saying it out loud, but she had to make absolutely sure she knew the truth before continuing a conversation with him, "...When I said _summoned_, I meant...were you actually born of a woman, or did you come from the devil?"

"Seriously?" Quasimodo asked dryly, but then sighed and said, "I suppose I should've expected such a question. I wish I could say you were the first one to accuse me of being a wicked spirit. Don't worry though, I'm not. My mother's name is Sabelle, and she's a perfectly normal woman. My father was a knight from Ireland. He was married, but he didn't tell my mother that when they started seeing each other. She wanted to marry him, but he wouldn't have left his wife even if he could. She was just a gypsy to him, and he didn't really care about her. When she got pregnant with me she left Ireland so that his family wouldn't find out. I was born in France, hence my French name, but we didn't stick around too long. We never do."

"It must be wonderful, to get to see the world," Agnes said wistfully, "I have always dreamed of traveling all across the land and sailing the oceans. I'll never get to do that though. I couldn't. My skin is very sensitive to the sun, and I need to protect myself."

"You are nobility though. Maybe you'll go on diplomatic trips someday, and then you'll see all sorts of things," Quasimodo replied encouragingly, "To be honest, going to new villages is scary. I'm always afraid an angry mob will chase us off. Seeing new countrysides and meadows however, that is pure heaven. Sometimes I carve the different flowers I see, and sometimes I carve things based off what I saw in the clouds that day. There are many beautiful trees and animals out there, and that's always my favorite part of exploring new places. People, not so much."

Agnes simpered at his glib final thought. She knew very well that people could be cruel and unforgiving. She knew that as a deformed gypsy Quasimodo had likely had his fair share of close calls. If Agnes had seen him on the street before this she would have surely screamed and ran in terror, but now that she was talking to him she couldn't help but feel her father was wrong about him. Maybe he was wrong about gypsies in general. She didn't know. All she knew was that Quasimodo for all his physical flaws was a witty, creative, and somewhat charming individual.

* * *

Phoebus was bored. He had promised to keep a lookout for Agnes Frollo to make sure her father didn't catch her talking to a gypsy, but now Phoebus was starting to feel like a fool. He should have gone in there with her. What if the hunchback was dangerous? What if he tried to force himself on Agnes? Could Phoebus call himself a man if he allowed that to happen to the lady he was courting?

"Get a hold of yourself, Phoebus," The knight berated himself, "She's fine. It's only been an hour or so. An hour of just standing here while my horse swats at flies with his tail. Zounds! I never realized how hot this armor can get when one is standing still. Come on, Agnes. Any _day_ now..."

As Phoebus rocked on his heels and listened to the jingling of his spurs he got the distinct feeling that something had changed in the air. Something was not right. He looked around and sure enough, he could see Judge Frollo slowly galloping down the street on his intimidating black horse. If Phoebus recalled correctly, that menacing beast's name was Snowball. He wondered briefly if Agnes had named the horse or if Frollo just had a weird sense of humor.

Phoebus had to shake himself out of it though, because he realized Frollo was getting closer to Notre Dame. If he saw Phoebus with no Agnes then both of them would be in trouble. Phoebus might have been mischievous, but he wasn't suicidal. Besides, he still had his eye on marrying Agnes, and that wouldn't happen if her father threw him in prison and cut off one or more of his body parts.

"Achilles, stay," Phoebus muttered to his horse before quietly making his way to Notre Dame.

If he could just get inside and warn Agnes then they could hide until Frollo left and then return to her home as if nothing went wrong. Yeah, that seemed like a solid plan. Phoebus was just about to open the door when he saw another hand on the handle at the same time as him.

Phoebus turned, and he saw an old gypsy woman with a boy and a black and white goat in tow. The gypsies gasped when they saw it was the captain of the guard, and Phoebus froze because someone had caught him trying to sneak into a church.

_Wow, sneaking _into _church! I must be getting old... _Phoebus thought wryly.

Clearing his throat to chase away the awkwardness of the moment, Phoebus opened the overlarge door and gestured into the darkness of the sanctuary.

"After you, madam," Phoebus said cavalierly.

The old woman eyed him warily, but then finally scooted past him while dragging the boy along by the hand. The goat followed along after them, and then Phoebus went inside himself.

"Why are you following us?" The gypsy woman snapped at Phoebus, "It is our right to claim sanctuary if we want to!"

"Oh? Did you do something to require sanctuary?" Phoebus asked playfully, but of course his audience was in no jesting mood.

"Of course not!" The old woman barked, "But apparently being born is crime enough for you Parisians. I'm just here to visit my son. He had to claim sanctuary yesterday, and if he is to rot in this monument to intolerance for the rest of his life then the least I can do is bring him a home cooked meal.

It was only then that Phoebus realized the old hag was carrying a small cooking pot in one hand. He couldn't help but note how strong she must be to not show any visible signs of strain while carrying a pot and dragging her brat along by the hand. Wait a minute, she said her son claimed sanctuary _yesterday_. That meant...

"Is your son the gypsy king or the hunchback?" Phoebus asked.

"I don't see why that's any business of yours," The woman replied crossly, "But if you must know my son is Quasimodo."

"Ah, the hunchback," Phoebus nodded in understanding, "Well you might want to hold off. He has company right now."

"_What_?" The woman shrieked in alarm, "What did you do? Did you send soldiers up there? Are your goons torturing my boy!?"

"What? No!" Phoebus fumbled under the angry barrage of questions, "No, ma'am. Calm down! I escorted a young woman here who wanted to check on your son's well being. Nothing bad is going to happen to him here. This is a sanctuary, and I wouldn't dare violate that."

"You know you can't hang him, right?" The boy remarked, "Quasimodo has no neck, so you can't hang him. If you want him dead you'll have to burn him at the stake, and then your god will get angry because you violated the sanctuary law."

"I already said I won't!" Phoebus snapped, a little annoyed at having to deal with two peeved off gypsies, "I'm just here to wait for Agnes. That's all. I don't care what happens to your son or that fool Clopin."

"Agnes?" The woman asked nervously, "You mean Agnes Frollo? The judge's daughter? Oh dear! Lorenzo, we have to find Quasimodo!"

With those words the old woman grabbed the boy's hand again and they started searching for the stairs that led to the cloisters. Phoebus knew he should follow them, but he also didn't want to scare them. Blowing out a sharp breath, he counted to a hundred and then followed them up the staircase, hoping he was far enough behind them to not look like he was chasing them.

* * *

Agnes and Quasimodo looked out the arched window of his room together, and the first thing they saw was an ugly gargoyle staring down at them! Well, that was how it looked anyway, since the ugly faucet was placed so close to their window.

"Ah!" Agnes screamed, "Honestly, Are they trying to give someone a heart attack? Yeesh!"

"Neat!" Quasimodo exclaimed, "It's right there. You can actually reach out and grab it."

Quasimodo demonstrated this by running his hand along the underside of the stone monster's protruding neck.

"Be careful," Agnes warned, "You're leaning out pretty far. You don't want to fall from this great height."

"I wonder if that thing would support my weight..." Quasimodo pondered.

"What? No! Get back over here at once!" Agnes demanded.

"What are you so scared of?" Quasimodo asked teasingly, "Oh, don't worry about me, mademoiselle. I've been climbing trees and fences for as long as I can remember. I can hop on rooftops when I'm of a mind to do so. I won't get hurt."

"Quasimodo, I'm serious. Don't you dare climb out that window!" Agnes shouted, "If you do I'll...I'll...I'll tell Clopin on you!"

"I wonder if Clopin can climb a gargoyle," Quasimodo mused, still seeming unconcerned, "Wait, you really do worry about me, don't you? You don't want to see me splatter on the ground below? Wow, you _are_ adopted!"

"Shut up, you big oaf!" Agnes laughed, "So, you won't climb out the window like a maniac?"

"Not while you're here," Quasimodo replied impishly, "Maybe later."

"No, never," Agnes insisted, "My goodness, you are the strangest man I've ever met in all my life!"

"Guilty," Quasimodo said as he raised his hand like he was swearing by it.

"My, my. I pity the woman that becomes your wife," Agnes shook her head in mock disappointment.

Agnes's words had been playful, therefore she didn't expect the sudden melancholy that befell the poor man in that moment. He sat down on the ground and looked at his hands as if they had done something bad to him. Agnes didn't understand the sudden change in mood, but she sat down next to him in an attempt to console him.

"What is it?" Agnes asked, "It's okay. You can tell me."

"Monsters don't have wives," Quasimodo whispered so softly that Agnes struggled to hear what he said.

"Oh," Was all Agnes could say.

"I know you meant no harm, but love isn't meant for guys like me. Love is meant for handsome men with steady jobs and the ability to protect their partners. No woman could love a man that looks like he was...summoned."

"You don't know that," Agnes replied as she took his hand in hers, "Maybe someday you'll find a woman who sees you for who you really are. I mean, not every woman wants money and a house full of kids. Some women might rather have what you offer them."

"Yeah? And what is that?" Quasimodo snorted in self-pity.

"Well, adventure for one thing," Agnes replied, "And, um...beauty. You might not have a pretty face, but you have a beautiful soul and you make many beautiful things through your art. You have many good qualities, Quasimodo. You're strong, and you're talented, and...I just noticed. Your good eye is blue. I've never seen such a stunning shade of blue before."

"Really?" Quasimodo asked incredulously.

"Really," Agnes assured him, "See? You have many good qualities, and someday I'm sure the right woman will see them too."

Quasimodo was truly touched by her words of encouragement. No one, not even his own mother, had ever told him he could find love and be married someday. Like most men of this era it was something Quasimodo wanted, but he was sure it would be a miracle to even get a harlot to accept his money for an evening. He never thought about searching for true love before, but as he squeezed Agnes's hand a little tighter and looked at this angel smiling back at him, he dared to hope it was true.

As they sat there in the cloister holding hands and looked into each other's eyes, suddenly a shadow fell over them and they were confronted by Clopin. Agnes gasped as she scooted away from Quasimodo, and Quasimodo could see the protective glare in the gypsy king's eye.

"I see we have a harpy in our hive," Clopin said with a slasher smile as he pulled out his dagger and held it against Agnes's throat, "If you think you're going to get us in trouble, think again!"

"Clopin, stop!" Quasimodo shouted as he stood protectively next to Agnes, "She was just here to see if I was okay!"

"A likely story," Clopin hissed, "I know your kind. You make trouble just so you can accuse a gypsy and see them hang. Oh, how many of your type have I met? I can't even recall."

"You can't kill her, Clopin! Judge Frollo would come down on us for sure!" Quasimodo pointed out, "He would get an order from the king for this! Please, just let her go!"

Just then, two more people entered the cloister. Agnes wondered if it was some monks come to save her, but her heart sank when she saw it was two more gypsies. She was sure she was going to get her throat slashed by the gypsy king. Oh, her father had been right! Why didn't she listen to him?

"Clopin! What the devil's going on here?" Sabelle demanded to know.

"This hussy was trying to seduce Quasimodo so that she could see him hang," Clopin replied accusingly.

"What? No! I wasn't-! I didn't-!" Agnes struggled to explain, "I was just-!"

"Mother, he can't kill her!" Quasimodo pleaded, "They'll throw us out of sanctuary and hang us!"

"They can't hang you," Lorenzo pointed out, "They'd have to burn you. You have no neck."

"Ugh, this conversation again?" Quasimodo moaned, apparently having gone over this with Lorenzo before, "That's not my point! Agnes and I were just talking. Nothing bad happened, and she isn't here to hurt me."

"Let her go, Clopin," Sabelle ordered despite him being king, "Quasimodo's right. If she dies, then we all die. Even just the threat is probably enough to get us all killed. I don't know how you can be so irresponsible."

"I can make it look like a suicide," Clopin suggested, to which he received several glares from the room, "Alright, fine! I'll let her go, but when her father kills us you'll wish I slit her throat."

Agnes then stood up and backed against the wall warily while Clopin sheathed his knife back in his belt. A moment later the group heard heavy footsteps coming toward the room, and then saw Phoebus standing in the doorway panting for breath due to walking up stairs in full armor.

"Ag...Agnes..." Phoebus panted, "Are...you...alright?"

"Yes, Phoebus," Agnes replied automatically so that the gypsies wouldn't get angry at her, "I'm fine."

"We need to go," Phoebus told her, "I saw your father riding through town. He'll wonder why we're taking so long. So, what should we tell him we did today?"

"We walked through Paris," Agnes recited, "And then climbed a gargoyle," She added with a mischievous grin.


	6. Window of Escape

_Author's Notes: I really like how this chapter turned out. It's got all the standard drama but it also has something I don't get to write as often: shenanigans! Pure unadulterated shenanigans! Anyway, thank you for reading the latest chapter of "The Prince of Fools", and please review :)_

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Chapter 6

Window of Escape

The second night of the gypsies' stay in Notre Dame was at hand, and while the sun set over the great city of Paris the unfortunate gypsy king Clopin was dealing with a bit of an issue...

"Get out of my room!" Clopin shouted at Quasimodo, who was laying in Clopin's chosen sleeping spot.

"Please, just one night!" Quasimodo begged, "This place is terrifying! Every monk and priest looks at me with suspicion. The nuns all scream and make the cross sign as if it will protect them from me. They all want to kill us, and this place feels like a cold dark cave with the way the walls echo and you can hear every last step taken by every last person. There's safety in numbers, my liege. Please, just this once?"

"No!" Clopin barked, "If I let you sleep in my room tonight you'll ask again tomorrow. If I concede to it tomorrow then it will become a habit. You're not a child, Quasimodo. You can sleep by yourself. Like my father always said, start things out the way you want them to go. And I want you _to_ _go_ back to your own room."

Quasimodo got up and hung his head, knowing he was acting like a baby yet not knowing what else he could do about it. Notre Dame was tolerable during the day, but at night everything was cast in eerie shadow and it looked as if the carvings of angels and demons could come to life and attack him. He knew he and his king weren't welcome here, not really, and he just wanted to go back to The Court of Miracles to be with his mother and his cousin Lorenzo.

Clopin pointed to the exit, and Quasimodo began to walk away, but then the vesper bell began to ring loudly through the tower and Quasimodo shrieked and practically threw himself against the wall!

"Ahh! Make it stop!" Quasimodo cried out.

"They'll stop ringing in a moment, boy," Clopin assured him, "Calm down."

Quasimodo couldn't calm down, but he closed his eyes and hoped that made him look calmer for his king. Memories flashed in his mind of all the friends and family he had lost, and the death knells that had rung for each one. His Uncle Shandor, his Aunt Lavinia, and his childhood friend Balthazar just to name a few. Quasimodo had attended those public executions in secret, his mother believing that the condemned should have at least someone present who was actually there to mourn instead of merely seeking to be amused by the spectacle.

At every execution though, there were always the priests, there was always the executioner, and there was always the sound of the bells. Now here he was, being forced to endure the toll of the reaper up close. He wished he wasn't such a coward, but he didn't know how to be braver.

"_Quasimodo_!" Clopin shouted and removed Quasimodo's hands from his ears, "They stopped!"

"You don't have to yell," Quasimodo commented, and Clopin realized he had been screaming in a quiet room.

"Ahem, yes, well, off you go," Clopin waved the hunchback off with his much dignity as he could recover, "Goodbye, Quasimodo. See you in the morning. Tata!"

With no other choice, Quasimodo heaved a deep sigh and then trudged off to his own cloister, hoping against all hope that he would get a decent night's sleep in this towering dungeon.

* * *

That evening, Agnes served the dinner she had prepared to her father. She cut his meat and filled his wineglass as he looked over a parchment pertaining to a court case involving a member of the nobility. He wanted to see the prisoner hanged, but since he was a personal friend of the Cardinal of Bourbon Judge Frollo would probably have to give him a lighter sentence.

Once Frollo was finished reading he saw that Agnes had served him his dinner and was now eating across the table from him. He smiled fondly at what a good homemaker she had become. He still remembered when she was little and hated cooking and cleaning. She had been such a defiant and spirited child...it felt like only yesterday.

"I hope the pork isn't too overdone, Father," Agnes said sheepishly, "I got a little distracted earlier and didn't get home in time to take it out of the oven when I was supposed to."

Frollo tasted it and said "It is fine, Agnes."

Agnes sighed in relief and started in on her pea soup. Frollo rolled up his scroll and placed it on the nearest table he could reach from his chair.

"Agnes, how did your stroll with Captain Phoebus go today?" Frollo asked intently.

"Very well, Father," Agnes replied with a smile, "He is a decent man with a good sense of humor and easy manner about him."

Agnes wasn't lying either. She had not only enjoyed his company, but she felt that she could trust Phoebus. He had helped her conspire to check in on Quasimodo and had warned her when Frollo had gotten too close to finding out the truth. He was a deeply wounded soul who hid it behind witty retorts and fun loving smiles. Agnes was pleasantly surprised by the man she had met earlier that day.

"So, he pleases you?" Frollo asked.

Agnes went silent then, knowing why he was asking and not really knowing what to say next.

"Agnes?" Frollo pressed.

"Um, yes Father. Like I said, he's a good man," Agnes replied carefully, "I believe we could be good friends."

"Excellent. I shall send a message to the Chateaupers and arrange for you to marry him as soon as possible."

"Oh, but Father. I'm not sure I'm ready for that," Agnes backpedalled, "Phoebus is kind, but I don't feel like I love him. Love takes time."

"You don't have time, Agnes," Frollo insisted, "A woman only has a few years of attractiveness and only a few years after that to bear fruit. Renault De Chateaupers is personal friends with the king, and it would be of great benefit to our family to form a union with a family of such influence. He is perfect for you, Agnes. A man of good breeding, refinement, and connections. Unless you can give me a good reason to refrain from sending the message, you _will_ marry Phoebus De Chateaupers."

"Well..." Agnes tried to think of something to say. This was happening too quickly. She liked Phoebus well enough, but could a lifelong marriage survive on that? She didn't know him yet. He was a stranger, and for all she knew he could be a philanderer or a drunkard. What if he became possessive once they were married? What if he kept her locked away for most of her life like her father had done? This was the nightmare she feared, going from being daddy's little pawn to being the wife of a man who felt like he could control every aspect of her life.

"Well?" Frollo prodded when Agnes didn't finish her reply.

Of course, Agnes owed her father everything. When her heathen mother abandoned her to die on the steps of Notre Dame it was her father who took her in and gave her everything to make her healthy and beautiful. Notre Dame...the day's events still wore on her, from the frightening encounter with Clopin to the gentle yet playful nature of Quasimodo.

There was another problem. She was one of them. Her blood was Romani. Could Phoebus love her if he knew the truth?

The vesper bells rang, and Agnes jumped at the suddenness of the sound. What was she thinking? Her father was right, she had to marry someone, and Phoebus was the least offensive man to ever vie for her hand in marriage. Decided, she said-

"Alright, Father. You can tell them. I will marry Phoebus."

"Excellent," Frollo replied in satisfaction, "You will be the most beautiful bride in all of Paris. You'll see, Agnes. In time you will realize you made the right decision."

Frollo then went back to eating and Agnes walked over to the window. This didn't feel like her decision. It felt like another one of her father's choices that she once again would have to live with. As she looked up at the stars and heard the ringing of the grand bells of Notre Dame she felt that it was a death knell signaling the end of her short life as a free woman.

* * *

Quasimodo shivered on the floor and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep as the moon's light filtered in through the window. It kept the place from feeling too dark, but the poor man's imagination was playing wild tricks on him again. Quasimodo had a very active imagination, which could be both a blessing and a curse. He imagined the gargoyle's wings moved. He pictured bats turning into people and going into Clopin's room to suck out his blood. He even thought he saw a ghostly woman, but it turned out to just be a nun walking down the hallways.

As he tried to get back to sleep Quasimodo suddenly heard light footsteps intertwined with light jingling noises. He wondered if it was a hobgoblin come to play a cruel trick on him, and he stood up just in case he had to fight someone off. A long shadow entered the room before its owner did, and Quasimodo came perilously close to punching Clopin!

"Whoa! Hey, knock it off, Lumpy!" Clopin hissed quietly.

"I almost did," Quasimodo joked to lighten the mood, "Heh heh, sorry, my liege. Do you need something, sir?"

"Kiddo, I figured out how we can get out of here unseen," Clopin declared, and the moon allowed Quasimodo to see the mischievous glint in his eye, "Here. Put this on over your clothes."

Clopin then threw something to Quasimodo, and when he unfurled it he could see it was...

"A nun's habit?" Quasimodo asked in confusion, "You want me to try to wear a woman's dress? Men's clothes barely fit me!"

"Hey, if we can find clothes to fit Hugo then surely we can accommodate you," Clopin replied sardonically, "Look, it doesn't need to be a perfect fit. It's dark outside right now, so if two 'nuns' walk out of Notre Dame into the street then no one will be the wiser. We just have to keep these on until we get to The Court of Miracles."

Quasimodo then noticed that Clopin was already wearing his nun's outfit, and it fit rather loosely on the lanky gypsy man. Shrugging, Quasimodo put on the habit and noted that it was just as tight and uncomfortable as he imagined it would be. Oh well, at least the thick veil fit him and would keep his head warm out in the bitterly cold January night.

Together the two Romani men left the sanctuary cloisters and walked down the stairs. Clopin had to be careful so that the little bells on his outfit didn't make noise. Quasimodo kept looking around the dark cathedral to make sure no one was watching them and nothing was going to sound an alarm.

The pair made it outside Notre Dame and tucked their hands into their overlarge sleeves so that they would look reverent as they walked. That was how real nuns looked, after all. What they didn't know was that Frollo had posted two guards close to the entrance so that they wouldn't be able to get away.

When one of the guards turned to regard the pair he was at first fooled by their nun disguises. He then took a closer look however and noticed that one of those nuns had a pronounced limp and a hunched back. That was when he knew. It was them.

"Halt, gypsy vermin!" The lead guard shouted as he took off on his horse after them.

The second guard followed suit, and Clopin and Quasimodo wasted no time in running away from Frollo's hired goons.

The horses were gaining quickly, but Clopin and Quasimodo took advantage of their smaller size compared to the horses and leapt over a fence. They landed behind the chandler's shop, and then hopped over several hogshead barrels to get to the next street. The horses had gone around the first street and were now quickly gaining ground on the duo.

"Split up!" Clopin ordered, and before Quasimodo could respond Clopin had run in the opposite direction of him.

One guard chased down Clopin, and the other went after Quasimodo. The hunchback was worried for the sake of his king. What would the other members of the court do to him if he allowed harm to come to their ruler? He wanted to go back and save him, but that would be disobedience to Clopin's direct order. With no other recourse, Quasimodo kept running and searched for an opportunity to hide.

As the guard lifted his bow and arrow to fire, Quasimodo slid under a parked cart. The arrow fired, but it hit the cart instead of the gypsy. Quasimodo then used the brief diversion to turn another corner and run down another alley. He looked all around for a place to hide and then realized where he had run to. He was close to the Palace of Justice, the place where prisoners were tried, tortured, and sentenced.

Quasimodo didn't want to be anywhere near this place of death and suffering, but he was getting tired and knew the archer would catch him if he didn't find a place to hide soon. He saw that next to the Palace of Justice was a house with an open ground floor window. Quasimodo hated breaking in on townspeople, but he had no choice. His life was on the line.

Ducking into the window, Quasimodo watched the archer and hoped the darkness was enough to conceal him from the sight of Frollo's goon. The guard's horse slowed down and the knight looked around, but after a few tense moments he was satisfied that the escaped gypsy wasn't there. The horse galloped away, and Quasimodo breathed a sigh of relief.

That relief only lasted a few seconds however, when he realized there was suddenly candlelight in the room, and he heard someone behind him gasp!

Quasimodo covered his head with his arms but didn't turn around, afraid showing his face would only make whoever it was even more afraid and angry than they already were. He hoped they wouldn't scream for the archer, but he knew that was a long shot.

"Please," Quasimodo whispered to the occupant, "Don't turn me in, I beg you. I promise I wasn't trying to rob you, please."

"Quasimodo?" A feminine voice replied in concern.

Quasimodo then turned around, and saw Agnes standing in the entranceway wearing nothing but her nightgown and carrying a small candle holder.

"Quasimodo, what the devil are you _doing_ here?" Agnes whispered worriedly, "And are you dressed as a nun? Are you crazy?"

"I'm hiding from the archer until I can get back to The Court of Miracles," Quasimodo explained.

"In _my_ house?" Agnes whispered incredulously, "My father is asleep upstairs. You could be killed for this!"

"I didn't know this was your house," Quasimodo replied defensively, "I just needed a place to hide. I'll go now."

"Agnes?" A deep baritone hollered from up the stairs, "Agnes, are you down there?"

"Um, yes Father!" Agnes replied as nonchalantly as she could manage, "I'm just, uh, doing some late night cleaning. Forgive me for disturbing you. You can go back to sleep now."

"I'm already awake. Make me some tea," Frollo ordered as he milled around upstairs.

"Yes, Father!" Agnes replied, "I'll bring it up to you."

"Nonsense, drinking tea is not something to be done in bed," Frollo dismissed the idea, "I'm coming down."

"Oh no..." Quasimodo breathed anxiously.

Frollo started walking downstairs with another candle in hand, and Agnes pulled Quasimodo by the arm and led him to the dining room table, where the tablecloth could hide him. He crawled under the table, his heart pounding from being so close to the grim reaper himself. If Frollo caught him he would probably be whipped, drawn, quartered, and castrated for good measure.

Agnes, meanwhile, started making tea and pretended that there wasn't a gypsy hiding mere feet away from her. Her nerves only shot up more when Frollo made his way into the dining room and sat down at the table in his usual spot. Quasimodo was right at the minister of justice's feet, so he scrunched himself up as small as he could so that not even a fiber of his borrowed clothes would touch the man.

"Agnes, I don't know why you would be up at this ungodly hour," Frollo groused as he rubbed his temples, "Your knocking around down here awoke me from a dead slumber."

"My apologies, Father," Agnes replied as she put the tea kettle on the stove and lit the fire with her candle, "I couldn't sleep. I suppose I'm just nervous about my wedding. It just feels like everything is happening so quickly, and it will be hard to leave you and this house after living here my entire life."

Of course Agnes didn't really mean this. True, she _was_ awake lamenting her impending vows, but her father's iron thumb and daily lessons would not be missed nearly as much as Agnes let on. Still, she had to say something to keep her father from noticing the man she was hiding under the table.

"I am sure your new life with Phoebus De Chateaupers will be just as fulfilling as your life here with me has been," Frollo told her.

_Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of_, Agnes thought ruefully.

Agnes didn't voice this opinion however. Keeping peace with her father was more important than venting her grievances at the moment. She made him his tea and then took her place at the table. Her foot touched something solid, and she bit her lower lip realizing Quasimodo was closer to her side of the table now. As long as he didn't make any noise he wouldn't be discovered. Agnes just had to keep her cool until her father went back to bed.

"I'll need to contact the archdeacon tomorrow," Frollo suddenly said.

"What?" Agnes was very jumpy, and her mind was too preoccupied with Quasimodo to focus on the conversation.

"The archdeacon. For your wedding," Frollo reminded her as if she were slow, "I'll need to see how soon he is available. The wedding will of course be held in Notre Dame. A smaller church wouldn't be nearly grand enough for such an event. Tomorrow we'll go by the seamstress's house and you can look at fabric samples for your dress."

"Shouldn't I be the one excited about this part?" Agnes asked teasingly, "If I didn't know any better I would say you're looking forward to getting rid of me."

"Nonsense," Frollo smiled as he lifted his cup, "No one makes tea like you do, Agnes. I shall be at a loss regarding what to do without you."

Agnes and Frollo continued to talk while he drank his tea, and Quasimodo continued to listen from his awkward place under the table. So, Agnes Frollo was getting married. That was unsurprising for a fair maiden such as her, and yet for some reason Quasimodo was sad to hear this news. He knew it didn't make sense. He should be happy such a kind person was getting something she wanted. A judge's daughter marrying a noble knight. It sounded perfect.

_Perfect_. The word tugged at Quasimodo's heart, because he knew that he was thoroughly imperfect. He knew it was wrong to feel this way, and yet part of him longed to be with Agnes Frollo. She was an angel, with the voice of a songbird and the grace of a dancer. She spoke to him with such kindness and warmth, and she could make Quasimodo believe that even he was worthy of love and affection. He didn't want to admit it, but he couldn't lie to himself anymore. He was falling in love with Agnes Frollo, and he hated the idea that their love was doomed before it ever had a chance to blossom.

_Don't be selfish, Quasimodo_... He chided himself. _She never claimed to love you. She is only your friend. The fact that she is even that is a miracle, and I should not scare her by telling her I want to be with her. She would surely scream and turn away from me. No, I will be content to be her friend. I will be content to survive and return to The Court of Miracles._

After what felt like forever Frollo finished his tea. Agnes cleared the table and the old man finally decided to go back upstairs to bed. Agnes waited a few minutes after she saw his candle extinguish to make sure he was really asleep before she went back to the table to fetch Quasimodo.

"Alright, he's asleep," Agnes whispered softly as she lifted up the tablecloth, "You can go back out the window and return to your people. Just be careful."

"Thank you," Quasimodo whispered back, "You know, you keep saving my life. I wish I'd met you in Madrid."

Agnes smiled wide and helped Quasimodo to stand up. Their hands lingered a moment longer than Quasimodo meant for them to, yet he wished that time could freeze on this moment. When he realized how awkward this must seem he quickly pulled his hand away. He also became embarrassingly aware that he was still dressed like a nun.

"Well, I, uh, I'll see you around, mademoiselle Frollo," Quasimodo stammered as he backed away into the living room where he came from, "Again, thank you."

With that Quasimodo climbed out the window and ran off into the night. Agnes watched him leave before closing and locking the window to prevent any other late night visitors. Once the adrenaline started to wear off Agnes found herself softly laughing about the whole debacle. That Quasimodo had to be the wildest man she ever met, yet despite his outlaw status she still found herself envying his carefree attitude and lust for life. If only she too could crawl out that window and away from her father's control.

Of course she wouldn't though. She was a coward. She could never break away from her life and the darkness that protected her from the sun. Agnes sighed longingly for the fantasy of freedom, and then turned away from the window back to her dark stifling reality.


	7. Parental Guidance

_Author's Notes: Hi everyone, and welcome to the next chapter of "The Prince of Fools". Just a fair disclaimer, my Hunchback of Notre Dame plot bunnies haven't been very active lately, so I'm going to be working on other projects for a while. It's not forever, just a temporary hiatus, but I need a break from this story for a while. Thank you for reading and supporting this story thus far, and I hope this chapter turned out okay ^_^'_

* * *

Chapter 7

Parental Guidance

Sabelle had trouble sleeping. The other gypsies believed that soon their king would figure out a way to escape Notre Dame, but Sabelle wasn't so sure if Clopin would also save Quasimodo. Her son was a lot more fragile than his appearance let on, and she was very protective of him. To be separated from her poor innocent boy for so long was very hard on the old woman. She was grateful that at least she could protect Lorenzo, but she still feared her son going mad within the unmoving stone walls of that cathedral.

Not being able to lull herself to sleep, Sabelle got up and wandered the large underground encampment of The Court of Miracles. There were many fine treasures stored within the compound. Some were stolen goods and others were heirlooms of families that lived in the court. There were garish decorations and hangers for torchlight all over the place. Most of the area was dark since most of the families were asleep, but Sabelle noticed after a moment that one of the camps was well lit and she could hear bickering coming from inside the blue and silver studded tent.

Sabelle walked over in the hopes that making friends with whoever happened to live there. Perhaps that could take her mind off the dreadful circumstances of her boy. Before she even got to the tent she noticed an open wagon that had cages full of exotic birds. Some were more common varieties like sparrows and finches, and some were colorful birds from places as far away as Asia and Africa. If there had been more trees the area would've looked like a jungle.

The birds started cawing at her sudden presence, and Sabelle heard an old woman from inside the tent shout "Shut up, you lice-ridden rats!"

"Hello?" Sabelle called out so she wouldn't startle anyone, "I am Sabelle. My family and I arrived here recently. May I come in?"

"Huh?" The old woman's voice grunted, and then the flap opened to reveal a little old lady with a plain lavender dress, a turban on her head, and the widest toothless smile Sabelle had ever seen on a person.

"Who is it, Ma?" A man's voice shouted from inside the tent.

"It's a guest, Hugo!" The woman hollered in reply, "Come on in, Sabelle. It's so nice to have company, especially at this late hour. Normally no one else is awake to talk to, so I'm stuck with these two knuckleheads."

Sabelle entered the tent and saw that the family had sat down to eat a dinner of soup. There was an older gypsy man in tattered grey and white linen blowing on his spoon to cool his soup, and there was a very tall very fat man slurping down the soup in his bowl regardless of its temperature. Sabelle vaguely recognized him as the cross dresser from the Feast of Fools the other day.

"It's so nice to meet you, Sabelle," The old woman said in a friendly tone, "My name is Laverne, this fine gentleman is my husband Victor, and the boy with the healthy appetite is my lazy no-good son Hugo. He's not much of a beggar or a purse snatcher, but he dances like nobody's business."

"Hey, Ma? We got anymore soup?" Hugo asked.

"The pot's over there, ya bum. Just go and get it!" Laverne snapped as she waved to the cauldron on the other side of the tent, "I slave all day over a hot fire and these two can't even be bothered to get up and serve themselves."

"Maybe if it was worth getting up for," Victor mumbled under his breath.

"I heard that, you louse!" Laverne shouted, but then in a calmer tone turned to Sabelle and said, "I'm afraid we only have three stools. Please feel free to sit in mine. I need to go feed the birds anyway. Again, a pleasure to meet you, friend."

Sabelle wasn't sure what she had just walked in on, but she hesitantly sat down with the two men and waited for Laverne to come back. Hugo tried to grab Victor's soup bowl, but the old man hit the younger man's hand with a spoon to defend his dinner. Sabelle laughed to herself, used to seeing barely functional families like this and appreciating how welcoming they were to her despite it being such an inconvenient hour.

"Hey lady!" Hugo suddenly called her attention back to the moment, "Didn't I see you at the festival? Yeah! You were selling wooden goats."

"They're my son's carvings," Sabelle explained, her voice soft and distant.

"Is your son here with you, madam?" Victor asked in concern, "I know the streets can be very dangerous for young Romani men, especially here in Paris. Though to be fair, at least it's not Hamburg. I remember from experience how savage they can be. My brother was burned at the stake after an outbreak of the plague, and my family and I barely escaped with our lives. That was around...I want to say 1466, maybe 1467. I just remember Hugo was a teenager then, and still had the ability to run. What did you disguise yourself as to meet us outside the city?"

"A sheep," Hugo replied with a cunning smile, "Of course what really saved us was when Ma released her collection of birds on the angry mob. Took us months to catch more though. Hahaha!"

"My son was the king of fools," Sabelle told them.

"Ooh. Right. I saw that," Hugo cringed, "That...could've gone better."

"What they did to that boy was thoroughly unfair," Victor shook his head in contempt, "Your son cannot help how he looks, and all he wanted was to have fun with the people of Paris without being adversely judged. It was so good of our king to help that unfortunate man. I only hope they return to us soon."

"So do I," Sabelle confided, "I just fear that Quasimodo might never be allowed to leave. He's a good boy, but he's not meant for the life of a monk. He's beaten too many pickpockets, muscled out too many debts, and has no knowledge of their religious ways. They won't put up with him. I just know it."

"Well they got no choice now, lady," Hugo pointed out, "It's sanctuary. They have to take him."

"Perhaps I should steal something and claim sanctuary too," Sabelle pondered out loud, "Then at least he won't have to suffer alone."

"Ah! You stupid bird!" They heard Laverne holler from outside the tent, "I hope your wings get caught in the door!"

"Hahahahaha, she just can't admit she loves those things," Hugo chuckled.

"She doesn't admit she loves us either, dear boy," Victor replied cheekily, "Oh Sabelle, do not worry about Quasimodo. Clopin will not leave him behind. He is a very good and just king, and quite clever too. If there is an opportunity, he will take it and they will be free."

"The Parisians won't forget," Sabelle lamented, "Sure, Clopin can reintegrate into society, but everyone will remember Quasimodo. They will remember he was their king of fools, and they will accuse him of witchcraft and kill him. As soon as Quasimodo is safely returned to us, my family and I should leave. We are no safer here in Paris than we were in any other city we tried to settle in."

"Well, you must do what you think is right," Victor commiserated, "Though it will be a shame to lose a new family in our court. You are a kind person, and your son seems quite intelligent to be able to make such detailed wooden figurines."

"Poor Lorenzo. I had hoped to raise him differently than I raised Quasimodo," Sabelle said ruefully, "I had to run and hide from city to city when Quasimodo was growing up, and I had hoped to set up roots somewhere so that Lorenzo would not have to struggle the way we did. It's what my sister would have wanted. I can't do that for him though. Not yet, at least. Maybe someday the world will be a better place for young men like Quasimodo and Lorenzo, but until then all I can do is run, hide, and hope that no evil force has followed us."

Victor was about to say something, but then suddenly was wife cried out from outside "It's Clopin! Hey everyone, Clopin has returned!"

Sabelle immediately stood up and rushed out of the tent, the two men following her to see what the commotion was about. Laverne's shouting had awakened most of the gypsies in the court, and everyone came out to see Clopin standing at the top of the stairway wearing a baggy nun's outfit and grinning from ear to ear.

"_Please_, Laverne! There's no need for all that," Clopin said magnanimously, "Why, your screaming is loud enough to wake the dead!"

The joke was lost on a few, but those that remembered they were under an abandoned graveyard started laughing. Sabelle looked at the king, but she didn't see Quasimodo with him. It was just as she feared. Clopin had left him behind.

"Well anyway, I've had a rough night. See all of you in the morning," Clopin said casually, "I'll be more than happy to tell you all the story of my grand escape then."

"Where's Quasimodo?" Sabelle abruptly demanded, "Where's my son?"

"He isn't back yet?" Clopin asked in genuine surprise, "Oh dear. We left the cathedral together but had to split up when the guards came. I do hope they didn't catch him. Oh well, if they did then we'll find a dandy Frenchman to hang as recompense for the boy."

"Now you get something straight, buster!" Sabelle snapped at the gypsy king and poked him hard in the chest, "If you let my son die then that noose'll be around _your _neck! Understand?"

"Now see here, woman! Who do you think you're talking to?" Clopin snapped argumentatively, "I am king of this court, and you are my subject!"

"No, you are king of this court and _I_ am your worst nightmare!" Sabelle snarled, "My son may look scary, but remember that he was pushed out of me! I can make your life a never-ending wheel of eternal torment if Quasimodo dies! Just imagine seeing my face when you first wake up in the morning, when you try to perform your silly puppet shows, or when you go to relieve yourself! Don't think I'm not capable of it!"

"Alright, alright! You've made your point!" Clopin shouted in exasperation, "I'll go back out there and search for Quasimodo. I hope you appreciate this, lady. I've been sleeping on _stone_ for the past two nights!"

Clopin then left the court in a huff, and Sabelle sighed and turned to go back to her tent. Hugo, Victor, and Laverne just stared at the woman who had dared defy Clopin. There weren't many who were able to get under the king's skin like that, and that made Sabelle and her family worth watching out for indeed.

* * *

After waking up in the middle of the night Frollo had trouble getting back to sleep. When he had to wake up the next morning, he felt as if he had been struck in the head with a water jug. He could already tell that this was going to be a rotten day, but he hoped that meeting up with the Chateupers would lighten his mood.

Agnes was outside brushing Snowball's mane, so Frollo would have to pour his own tea and get his own breakfast from the pot. Yet another disadvantage to waking up too late in the morning. His old bones cracked and popped in protest as he made his way to the kitchen table with his bowl of pottage and his cup of tea. He sat down to eat his breakfast just as he did every day, and at first all seemed normal. That changed however when Frollo felt something under the table with his foot.

Curious, Frollo bent down to see what was under there, and he pulled out a small wooden figurine. It looked just like Agnes, except the figure had angel's wings. What perturbed Frollo however was that the figure was dancing like some sort of heathen. How dare someone look upon his precious daughter as if she were some common shameful harlot! The dress was even lifted up above her knees!

"Such debauchery!" Frollo growled as he held the doll tighter in his fist, "_Agnes_!"

"Father!" Agnes shouted as she rushed inside, "Is something wrong? Is it your heart again?"

Agnes stopped in the kitchen where she saw her father seething and clenching something she couldn't quite see in his fist. She didn't know what happened, but she had a bad feeling about it.

"Agnes, who gave this to you?" Frollo asked as he showed her the doll.

Agnes looked at the offending object, and recognized Quasimodo's handiwork. He made that figurine when he was trapped in Notre Dame, and Agnes figured that it probably fell from his purse when he was hiding under the table the night before.

"I, um..." Agnes groped for words, but none came to her right off.

"Who made this, Agnes?" Frollo demanded once again, "Who made this lewd caricature of you?"

"I found it," Agnes quickly said, hoping he would believe her lie, "I don't know from where it came, only that I found it. On the ground. In the square."

"This is the work of a perverted mind," Frollo declared, "Be careful, my dear Agnes. If whoever made this got too close to you they could do unspeakable things."

"I don't think I'm in danger, Father," Agnes tried to assure him, "It's just a harmless carving. It even looks like an angel."

"An angel of shadow, not of light," Frollo proclaimed, "What would Phoebus say if he knew you kept something like this around?"

"It means nothing to me," Agnes said, trying to sound casual.

"Good," Frollo nodded, satisfied.

Agnes had hoped that would be the end of it, and in a way it was. Frollo went to the fireplace and threw the figurine in the fire, burning the delicately carved likeness as if it were common kindling. Agnes gasped softly, but didn't allow her father to see her reaction. She knew Quasimodo would be devastated one of his works of art was destroyed, but she had to allow it in order to keep the gypsy man safe. If she wanted her father to forget his hatred of the hunchback, then he must not be reminded of him.

* * *

It was early the next morning when Quasimodo managed to find his way back to The Court of Miracles. He had been given a woven band with a map embroidered on a pendant, but it had taken Quasimodo longer than normal to return because he had been holding the pendant backwards and went to the wrong side of town the first time.

Now that he was back the first thing he noticed was that there weren't many people milling about in the court. He supposed that made sense. Most of them were probably out begging or pickpocketing to afford their food. Everything was quiet, and for a moment Quasimodo allowed himself to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere of the underground kingdom. No armed guards hunting him down, no judges to hang him, and no dogs to chase him. Here he was safe, for once in his life.

"Quasimodo!" His mother cried out when she saw him, and before Quasimodo could even wave hello she ran up to him and hugged him tight.

"Oof!" Quasimodo grunted as he struggled to maintain balance in his mother's iron grip.

"My baby! My baby! I thought I had lost you!" Sabelle cried.

"Mother...can't...breathe..." Quasimodo wheezed.

"Oh! Sorry, lad," Sabelle simpered as she released her hold on the young man, "I was just so worried. I can't believe that no good Clopin left you behind!"

"He had no choice," Quasimodo defended their king, "We had to split up or we would have both been captured. Don't worry though, I survived and I wasn't followed."

"Good," Sabelle sighed in relief, "Now, you've had a rough night. Let's get you back to the tent so you can get some sleep."

"Yes, Mother," Quasimodo nodded agreeably.

The old gypsy woman led her son back to their home, where Lorenzo was already asleep. Quasimodo carefully tiptoed around the area so he wouldn't wake up his cousin. Sabelle went to her own place on the floor to settle in, and Quasimodo went to a chest made of old barn wood to put away his newest wooden doll creations. He frowned when he noticed one was missing and realized he must have dropped it somewhere as he was escaping. Oh well, nothing he could do about it now, so he went back to putting away his other two creations.

"Are those new?" Sabelle asked softly so she wouldn't wake her nephew.

"Yes, Mother," Quasimodo replied, "I finally found my muse, so I made angels."

"Good. Those should sell nicely at the next festival. I think there's one coming up in a few weeks. It's no Feast of Fools but there should be a decent crowd. We'll probably be in Flanders by then."

"Okay, but I want to keep this one," Quasimodo said as he showed his mother an angel petting a goat on a simple round platform, "I think it really captures her."

"Hm...This doll looks an awful lot like Agnes Frollo, the judge's daughter," Sabelle noted, "You shouldn't carve her, boy. Judge Frollo would hunt you down if he saw such a thing."

"I won't show it to anyone. I just want to have it, to remember her by," Quasimodo replied wistfully, "Agnes is such a wonderful woman. She even hid me last night when an archer was seeking to kill me. She's not just beautiful, but also fun and full of life. I feel like her father stifles who she really is, but I can see the fire of life burning beneath her pretty dresses and proper attitude. She glows like the sun, and I wish she could just stop being afraid of the light and join the rest of the world, like us. Like me."

"Oh, dear," Sabelle breathed apprehensively, "I know what this is. I've heard words such as these before. You're falling in love with Mademoiselle Frollo."

"What? No! I, uh..." Quasimodo tried to think of something else to say, but then just blew out a breath and asked, "Is it that obvious?"

"You must not fall for a noblewoman, child," Sabelle told him firmly, "Aristocrats are not capable of real love."

"You don't know that!" Quasimodo argued.

"Oh, don't I?" Sabelle retorted, "Think, boy! Think of your father!"

Those words were like a slap in the face to Quasimodo. His father...the English knight that broke his mother's heart and left her out in the cold. Someone who only used and abused those of a lower social standing than himself. There were so many like him. Every other member of the upper caste had treated his people like dirt, yet Agnes...

"This is different, Mother," Quasimodo insisted, "She's not like them. Agnes is kind and good. She risked her own reputation and safety to protect me. She sought me out when it would've been very easy to ignore my existence. I admit it, I do love her. She is an angel on earth, and a muse for my art. I could never look at her and see the cruelty of her father...or mine."

"Do you believe she could love you?" Sabelle asked pointedly, "And I mean really, romantically, love you."

Quasimodo hung his head, knowing the answer.

"Quasimodo, the most likely scenario is that knowing of your feelings for her would terrify her and make her believe she was cursed. Her kind don't see us as human, and you especially have been deemed a monster by them. However, let's say she did come to care for you. She could never marry you. Her religion and her culture would not allow it. You would never have her father's blessing on the union, which you would need. She would become an outcast to her people, a vagabond. A woman used to a life of comfort and wealth would never follow you into the abyss. And these concerns would exist for a handsome Romani. Imagine trying to overcome these obstacles when all you can offer her is poverty and a warped body."

Quasimodo turned away from her, and she could tell that he was trying to avoid crying in front of her.

"Oh, dear. Quasimodo, I'm not saying these things to hurt you. I love you, and I think you are worthy of good things. It's just that I know how much it can hurt when a noble throws you away. I know from experience...it can break you. Agnes is most likely bored. Women like her lead lives of leisure. Once she's married off to some nobleman she'll have servants to cater to her every whim, and even now she's the daughter of a rich and respected minister of justice. Women like her use men like you for novelty. Once she gets bored of you she'll throw you away. Please Quasimodo, don't pursue this. I don't want to see your heart get broken, and I don't want that judge to burn you at the stake. Please, just let this be."

"Okay," Quasimodo whispered, too defeated to say much more, "You are good to me, Mother. You protect me from myself."

With those words Quasimodo laid down on the floor, and his mother did as well. The three gypsies were able to keep each other warm as they slept. Quasimodo knew his mother was right, but he just couldn't get Agnes out of his mind. Even though every time he saw her she was straight backed and moved with stiff purpose, for some reason he imagined her dancing. He felt like she would be a great dancer if only given a chance. Then again he would probably never see her dance. Given the way things were going, he would probably never see her again at all.


	8. Water Under The Bridge

_Author's Notes: Time for another neglected fic update! This time I went with "The Prince of Fools" just to mix things up, but this isn't my main story so I don't know when I'll update again. This particular chapter is a bit lighter than usual. Not really funny, but more adventurous and carefree. Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter, and stay safe during this trying time with the virus :)_

* * *

Chapter 8

Water Under The Bridge

Agnes and her father were at a shop that sold fine fabric in the heart of town. One by one the man that owned the shop showed off his wares, hoping that a combination of colors and fabrics would suit Agnes for her wedding dress. She had not seen Phoebus again since that incident at Notre Dame, but soon she would be his wife. She tried to make the best of the situation and feign interest in the fabrics, but her heart simply wasn't in it.

"I think the lavender would look lovely on you, Agnes," Frollo said as he held up a light purple silk, "Of course it should be accented with something demure, such as white or pastel pink. Nothing that will make you look ungodly. Of course there's nothing wrong with a little accent of color. Perhaps a wreath around your head would pull off the look."

"Sounds lovely, Father," Agnes replied with what she hoped was a convincing smile.

"If you would like to see some dress designs that my wife can make for you, there are plenty in the back," The shopkeeper suggested.

"Alright," Agnes replied with resignation, "Are you coming, Father?"

"In a moment," Frollo replied, "How much would you take for this black velvet?"

Frollo and the shopkeeper then started to haggle over the price of the bolt of velvet, and Agnes giggled and shook her head as she went to the back to see the dresses. She only had to make this decision once, so might as well pick something nice.

She found herself in a room with a shuttered window and mannequins with dresses of every sort. Not all of them were wedding dresses, but many were. Agnes looked through them with apprehension as the entire room had a layer of dust. For a popular shop in town they certainly didn't keep it very clean. Agnes would never get away with allowing even a single room in their house to be so filthy.

As she examined a green and white brocade dress with a lace veil, she heard a commotion outside and opened the shutters to see what was going on. There were knights chasing down a gypsy boy who held a chicken in his arms. Agnes was just about to close the window again, when the boy saw it was open and suddenly dove inside! Agnes was flustered, but had enough sense to close the window before the knights noticed he was in there.

"Whoa! Sorry lady!" The boy shouted as he backed away with his chicken.

"What are you doing in here?" Agnes asked in shock.

"Uh...The knights were trying to steal my chicken!" The boy stammered, "Uh, uh, yeah! They were jealous because of how...fat my chicken is!"

"That is Mademoiselle Chantefleurie's chicken," Agnes replied with a wry smile, "She has several just like it."

"Nuh-uh! It's my chicken, I swear!" The boy defended himself (badly).

"Didn't your mother teach you not to swear?" Agnes lightly teased the gypsy boy.

"No! She swore all the time!" The boy declared with a sense of pride that felt wholly unjustified to Agnes, "She even swore at the priest who hanged her! So, this is my damnable chicken and by blood and thunder you better get out of my way, bourgeois Parisian swine!"

As much as Agnes wanted to be angry at the rude boy, her heart couldn't help but go out to a child that had lost his mother in such a cruel fashion. He looked to be no older than ten, though given how starved down he was he might have been a little older. She couldn't tell.

"Fine. I believe you. It's your chicken," Agnes conceded, though she knew he was lying.

The boy nodded harshly and harrumphed in smug triumph. He turned on his heel to go out of the window the way he came, when a familiar misshapen head suddenly poked it's way inside.

"_Lorenzo_!" Quasimodo whispered harshly, "_Are you crazy? You almost got us caught!" _

"Uh, uh, caught from what, good sir?" Lorenzo asked, accenting his words unnaturally so that Agnes could hear them, "We have done nothing wrong on this fine and lovely day! Look, I found Aunt Sabelle's chicken!"

Quasimodo knew what Lorenzo was doing, but one look in the window made him realize that the bad acting was unnecessary. Agnes Frollo, standing amidst the lace and garland, looked like a vision of pure loveliness. She turned her gaze his way, and he couldn't help but smile like a fool.

"_Quasi, get out of the way_," Lorenzo whispered, "_I need to climb through the window!" _

"Huh? Oh, right!" Quasimodo, awakened from his trace, replied awkwardly, "Um, Mademoiselle Frollo, this is my cousin Lorenzo. Lorenzo, you remember Agnes Frollo. Who saved me from the pillory."

"Oh yeah. You look different without your hood," Lorenzo commented, "Your ma must've been gorgeous, because you look nothing like that old vulture Frollo."

"Lorenzo, _shh_!" Quasimodo shushed him nervously, "You're going to get us in trouble!"

Agnes just chuckled and said "It's okay. I've heard it before. Perhaps not quite so bluntly however.

"Pardon the intrusion, mademoiselle," Quasimodo apologized, "We won't trouble you further."

"Trouble? Between talking to you and shopping for an uncomfortable dress I'm only going to wear once, I think you're the better option," Agnes replied with an impish smile.

"Really?" Quasimodo asked, taken completely off-guard, "I mean, thank you! So, um, what are you doing here?"

"Wedding fabric shopping," Agnes replied without enthusiasm, "I am to marry Captain Phoebus De Chateupers. A fine match, if Father is to be believed."

"Congratulations," Quasimodo replied, his voice subdued.

"Thank you," Agnes curtsied slightly, "He is probably the best suitor I've ever had. He is kind, good-natured, and honest. I just wish the wedding wasn't happening so quickly. I like Phoebus, but I haven't been given time to figure out if I love him. I know, that's a silly problem for a woman to have. He will take care of me, and our families will benefit each other. That should be all that matters, right?"

"Take care of you? So what, you're going to be his pet?" Lorenzo asked insensitively, and Quasimodo facepalmed, "What? I was just asking a question!"

"No, you were making fun of her," Quasimodo called him out, "Just because Agnes Frollo is a Parisian doesn't mean she deserves to be treated this way."

"But it's just a stupid nobility problem. We have real problems," Lorenzo griped.

"You mean like your chicken getting away?" Agnes asked as she pointed to the door leading to another sample room.

Lorenzo did a double take and sure enough, his chicken was flapping its way further inside the shop and away from him.

"Hey, get back here, you louse-riddled bird!" Lorenzo shouted as he ran after 'his' chicken.

Agnes and Quasimodo shared a laugh as they watched the scrawny boy run after that chicken with the fevered pace of a man being chased by a wolf. When he was out of sight however, Quasimodo realized that Lorenzo had insulted Agnes, and he felt a renewed sense of embarrassment.

"Forgive him. He's just a kid," Quasimodo said contritely.

"I understand," Agnes replied without malice, "I just wish...I wish I had gotten to explore more of the world before I become Phoebus's wife. I've never been outside Paris, and in fact have barely even seen my own city. The sun is my enemy, so I cannot go out the way I want to. It would have been nice though, to have made some memories outside the walls of my house."

Agnes then walked over to the window where Quasimodo was looking in, but rather than look at him she instead stared up at the sky. There were birds flying from the rooftops up to the clouds, and this sight of grace and freedom made Agnes sigh longingly.

"Do it," Quasimodo suddenly said.

"Do what?" Agnes asked in confusion.

"You have a couple days of freedom left, right? Well then, use one of them. Climb out this window, and let me show you what the city has to offer," Quasimodo suggested enticingly, "After today, you can go back to being a good little Parisian housewife to-be. For now though, be a bird. Be a gazelle. Be yourself."

"That's crazy," Agnes admonished, though not as forcefully as she had hoped, "I mean, my father is in the main room haggling over cloth. If he came in and didn't see me..."

"It's better to ask forgiveness than permission," Quasimodo said with a smirk, "Come on. At least let me show you the Seine."

"Well...that isn't _too_ far away..." Agnes wavered, "...Hold on."

Agnes then rushed to the doorway to see where her father was. Sure enough, he was still carrying on conversation with the tailor and paying her no mind. She then turned back to see Quasimodo, a being that should have repulsed her yet offered a gift she had never before received: a choice. Her mind said this was crazy, but her heart said it was finally time to soar.

Her last bit of apprehension conquered, Agnes leapt out of the window and landed on the ground. Quasimodo smiled at her and offered his hand, which she hesitantly took. He then pulled her away toward the river, and Agnes wondered if she was making a huge mistake.

Meanwhile Lorenzo, who had caught the chicken again, went back into the fabric room to see everyone was gone.

"Hello? Quasi?" Lorenzo asked, and then pouted before he said, "I knew it! He left me behind again!"

* * *

Quasimodo led Agnes along several backalleys. The shadows would keep them from being spotted, which Agnes was grateful for for more reasons than one. She knew Quasimodo was trying to protect her reputation, but the darkness would also protect her skin from being tanned. She hated being so self-conscious about her looks. It made her feel terribly vain, but she knew that she would be shunned by Paris should her Romani heritage ever be revealed.

After a few minutes of speed walking through the streets of Paris, the duo made it to the river. Everything was less than grand, if Agnes were being honest with herself. There was some old woman washing her clothes, the decayed looking bridge stood nearby, and the water itself looked dull and muddy.

"Why did you want to show me this again?" Agnes asked Quasimodo.

"Well, I actually...didn't," Quasimodo replied sheepishly, "I wanted to show you something else."

Quasimodo then took her hand again and led her to the old bridge. It was yet another place of shadow, and Agnes was growing worried about the hunchback's true intentions.

"If this is an ambush I will be sure to scream at the top of my lungs," Agnes warned him.

"It's not an ambush, mademoiselle," Quasimodo assured her, "Just trust me."

Once they were under the old bridge, Quasimodo started rifling through his bag. Agnes wondered if this was going to be some sort of evil sorcery, and whether or not she should leave before he cursed her, but then she realized how silly that thought was. Quasimodo wouldn't harm her, and she was surprised by the sudden realization of how much she did trust him. She came this far with him, after all.

When Quasimodo found what he was looking for, he pulled out a carved wooden sailboat. It was a strange looking thing however, with sails made of embroidered red fabric that bent like square fans. The polished wooden boat and its embroidered sails were so beautiful that Agnes involuntarily gasped when she saw it.

"What kind of ship is that supposed to be?" Agnes inquired.

"This is a design a fellow in our caravan drew for me when I was 12," Quasimodo explained, "He said this is how boats look when they're built in China, but I don't know if that's true because I've never been to the Far East. I might make it there someday."

"Wow," Agnes breathed as she delicately touched one of the sails on the model boat, "You have such a talent, and so many places to go. I envy you, Quasimodo."

"You envy _me_? You're serious?" Quasimodo asked as he pointed to himself, "Ugliest face in all of Paris, remember?"

"Why should that matter?" Agnes asked, "Do you know how hard it is to be beautiful? To try to _stay_ beautiful? It doesn't feel worth all the effort, and yet I have nothing else to offer anyone. If I could be as gifted and free as you are, I think my beauty would be a fair trade off."

"I would barter with you if I could," Quasimodo replied wistfully, " But sadly I cannot. I can only give you this moment. Now, to show you why I really brought you here."

Agnes turned to him, nervous at his conspiratorial tone. Quasimodo then bent down to the river and released his carved boat. It tottered for only a moment, and then slowly began to sail away across the water. Agnes couldn't take her eyes off the little craft as it sailed further and further away from them. Quasimodo likewise stood in reverent silence as he watched his creation float along the Seine. The sail shone, the threads sparkled, and the wood made the whole production look dignified and timeless.

"Quasimodo, how are you going to get that thing back?" Agnes asked, suddenly realizing that it was very far away.

"I'm not," Quasimodo replied nonchalantly, "Someday someone else will find and appreciate it. Maybe a child, or perhaps an old man watering his flock. Who knows? Why should I have to own it forever, keeping it locked away like a king's treasure? I have more wood, and I shall make more carvings."

Agnes didn't know what to say to that, so she simply turned her attention back to the little Chinese boat as it became smaller and smaller in the distance. She wanted to stay in this moment, but she realized with melancholy that she could not.

"I have to get back to the fabric shop," Agnes announced after several minutes of companionable silence, "Father will worry if he finds me missing."

"Farewell, Agnes Frollo," Quasimodo said with a sad smile, "Phoebus is a very lucky man."

Agnes smiled at him, but her smile was likewise wistful and lamenting. As she turned to climb the hill back to the main road however, Quasimodo suddenly grabbed her hand.

"Wait!" Quasimodo exclaimed.

"What is it?" Agnes asked in surprise; caught off guard by his sudden insistence.

"Agnes, I forgot to tell you..." Quasimodo struggled to form his words, but then finally with his head hung low he said, "My family and I...we're leaving in three days."

"What? But why?" Agnes asked; upset.

"My mama feels it is no longer safe for us here," Quasimodo explained, "So, we are packing up and soon our wagon will leave. A few others from the Court of Miracles are joining us, so we won't be alone for our journey. I'm sorry we don't have more time together, but I will never forget your kindness and generosity, Mademoiselle Frollo."

Agnes felt tears form in her eyes. She didn't want to say goodbye to her new friend so soon, even if he was a gypsy. Quasimodo was the first real friend Agnes had ever had, and she doubted anyone else would understand her the way he did. She knew that gypsies didn't handle limitations very well however, and she knew that sooner or later Quasimodo and his family would leave. She just wished it didn't have to be _this_ soon.


End file.
